Debris
by wolfraven80
Summary: The storm is over and Arcadia Bay is left to pick up the pieces. But amid the debris, Max and Chloe uncover a secret that bridges the gap between past and present and may change the course of Arcadia Bay's future.
1. One: Penance

**Debris**

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 **A/N:** I imagine the story taking place after Shelter and Chiaroscuro but it's not necessary to read those to understand this story.

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 **One: Penance**

As Max adjusted the settings on her borrowed camera, she did her best to focus on the form of the image she was trying to capture, not on the what, or the who.

Rubble. Ruins. Debris.

The waning daylight lit up the western sky, turning the afternoon murk into a swirl of pale, peachy orange among swathes of steely grey clouds, now tinged with blue. The golden hour, she'd told Chloe once–the other Chloe in her wheelchair. Max readied the shot. It was now or never.

Debris stretched out to the horizon: wooden planks, lengths of siding, clumps of insulation like giant wads of cotton candy, mattresses, a window frame, a hot water tank. Ruined pieces of people's lives. Slightly to the left of centre, a tree trunk remained upright, most of its branches broken off, just a few stubs remaining like broken limbs. A car's bumper had been wrapped around its trunk by the force of the winds as if it were nothing more than a paperclip. It gleamed in the remains of daylight.

Max took the shot. She took several. She kept shooting until the light was too dim to go on.

And then she put away her camera, folded up the tripod, and picked her way back towards the nearest passable road. It wasn't long before she heard a sound she'd come to love over the past weeks: the rumble of Chloe's junker. The grumble of that run-down engine could make Max smile, even in the midst of all this desolation.

The truck pulled up and Max got in, only to be greeted by, "Price transportation at your service. I'm afraid advanced payment is required."

Setting down her gear, Max replied without even glancing at Chloe. "Do you take debit?"

"No."

"Credit?"

"No."

"Cheques?"

"Fuck no."

The camera and tripod now safely propped up against her leg, Max finally looked up and gave Chloe a once-over. Her tatty jeans were mud-spattered and her black T-shirt was covered in white plaster dust. A pair of thick work gloves, equally muddy, lay discarded between the two seats. Max spotted a thin red line slicing through the gold skull of Chloe's tattoo, like a long paper cut. "I don't think I can afford the ride then."

Chloe flashed a wicked grin. "We do accept sexual favours. In fact it's our preferred method of payment."

And rather than bothering to come up with an appropriately witty response to that, Max leaned in and pressed her lips to Chloe's in a lingering kiss. The scent of sawdust clung to her, and Max could feel bits tangled in Chloe's hair as she ran her fingers through it. But she was kissing her best friend, and she wouldn't trade it–wouldn't trade _her_. Not for all of Arcadia Bay.

Pulling back finally, Max quirked an eyebrow. "Will that do?"

Chloe was looking a little flushed, but quite pleased. "Paid in full."

"I won't ask what a ride to Seattle would cost."

A grin nearly split Chloe's face. "You hella should. I'd make sure it was the best ride of your life."

She was also _flirting_ with her best friend–except not in the completely ironic way they once had, because of course now her best friend was also her girlfriend, and a few weeks was just not enough time to get used to that. "Whatever you say, Cassanova." Max was proud that she could deliver a comeback at all, when, at the back of her mind she was thinking of how soft Chloe's hands were when they brushed down her cheek, when they snuck under the hem of her shirt to tickle her ribs, and of how much more she knew those soft hands wanted to explore.

"Did you get what you needed?" Chloe asked, her chin jutting to indicate the expanse of debris.

"I think so." Max reached into her pocket and produced an old photograph of an unremarkable suburban home with a huge oak on the front law. Reaching for her camera–her dad's camera actually, hers on an indefinite loan–Max pulled up the shots she'd just taken and let Chloe peer from the photo to the screen.

"Fuck. It's the same place? Really?"

"It is," Max said quietly. The tornado had ploughed through this residential neighbourhood, leaving entire blocks like this one reduced to rubble. There were so few landmarks left it was painfully difficult trying to figure out where a particular house had once stood. But that was exactly what Max had been trying to do for her photography project. She needed before and after shots. She had the "before", a pic from an old album she'd left in Seattle. This evening she had gotten the "after".

The project had been Max's idea, a way of doing something for the community she'd helped to destroy. A sort of reparation for something she could never repay. And while her Blackwell classmates didn't need to do penance the way she did, they had been anxious to get involved. The goal was to create side-by-side images of pre- and post-storm Arcadia Bay– before and after photos of the town–and assemble a collection to raise money for rebuilding.

Warren had already prepped (of course) a Kickstarter campaign, though how he could get anything done on the computer when he still had one arm in a cast was beyond her. Max and Alyssa were working on gathering photos and Juliet was working on text. The sticking point at this juncture was what to officially name the project. Warren's suggestion of "Bayfore and After" had been immediately voted down.

Sighing, Max tried to turn her thoughts away from what her powers had done, and towards the one thing that made it all worth it. "Did you have fun with the cleanup crew today?'

"Hella fun. I got to use a chainsaw this morning."

Max blanched. "A chainsaw?"

"Don't worry, Maxattack, I had adult supervision and everything."

Taking several deep breaths, Max tried to calm her racing heart while a series of grizzly disasters involving Chloe and chainsaws flashed before her mind's eye. "Chloe, did you... medicate... this morning?"

Chloe snorted. "Are you asking me if I used a chainsaw while I was high? I'm not a complete fuckup, you know."

"I know." Max let out a long breath. "I just... I still worry. I guess I'm still afraid Arcadia Bay has it out for you."

"Max–"

"I know, I know," she cut in, staring down at her hands. "None of that emo shit, right?"

"That's not what I was going to say." Swivelling in her seat to peer out the back window, Chloe put the truck in reverse and performed a fantastically illegal U-turn in the middle of the road. "You hella need cheering up and I've got just the thing."

Max shot her a sceptical look. "Joyce won't be happy if we're late for dinner."

"We've got lots of time. Relax, Max. Reliable is my middle name."

"Your middle name is 'Elizabeth'," Max said, crossing her arms. The sunset had faded into dusk. By the time they got anywhere it would be dark, and with debris strewn everywhere and streetlights out in many neighbourhoods, wandering around after dark could be hazardous.

"I had it changed. Legally." She swerved around a series of pylons in their lane, which sectioned off what appeared to be the remains of a fishing boat's hull. "I went to City Hall and filled out the papers."

"City Hall doesn't have a roof. Or electricity."

There was more swerving and even though Max had grown up riding her bike up and down these very streets she realized she couldn't tell where they were. There was nothing recognisable.

"We're here," Chloe announced after a few minutes as she pulled over onto a swathe of mud, which had once been someone's front lawn until the storm had stripped it of grass.

There were no lights, but by now Max knew the shape of destructions just by its outlines, the jagged shapes in the dark that had once been homes. "Chloe..." She didn't get further than that before Chloe got out of the truck and pulled out her phone for the flashlight app. The tiny light preceded her as she moved towards the debris.

Max knew she could stay in the truck. She could. Theoretically. But she knew the truth of the matter was that she would always follow Chloe.

With a resigned sigh, Max opened the door and gingerly stepped out of the truck. Chloe held out a hand to her and, in spite of her many reservations, Max found herself smiling as she took those familiar fingers in hers.

With uncharacteristic care, Chloe led Max around the debris, towards a shape, jutting out of the ground, leaning at a precarious angle. It wasn't until the light shone directly on it that Max realized it was the skeletal remains of a tree. It was much like the one she'd been photographing–cleanly stripped of bark, with only a few stubby branches left. She couldn't even guess what sort of tree it was.

With a mad grin on her face, Chloe tugged Max down next to the tree and shone her light on the trunk. "Chloe, what..."

"Get closer," Chloe said, moving to one side.

Max scooted closer and leaned down to peer at the spotlight from Chloe's phone. As she looked more closely, she realized that there were deep gouges in the wood. A roughly circular shape and then scratches inside it. It didn't look natural. She squinted at the marks until she realized it wasn't a circle; it was a heart. "Oh!"

"I was gonna wait till tomorrow. It's hard to see in the dark. Can you make out the names?"

"Umm..." Max traced her fingers over the names, trying to get a better feel for them. "Susan and... Michael. No... Michelle?" She glanced up at Chloe. "Is that right?"

Chloe grinned. "Fuck yeah! Arcadia Gay!"

"You dork." But Max was smiling too. A little spring of happiness bubbled in her chest at the thought that at some point in time another pair of girls had crouched here, carving their names into this tree. Two girls who had been more than friends. Two girls like them.

Well except for the time travel. And the not-so-natural-disaster. And the almost dying a lot.

Fingertips still brushing over the carved names, Max was surprised when she felt the warmth of Chloe's fingers against hers as her friend tapped the bare wood. "Spotted it today while we were working around here."

For a moment, the world wavered before Max's eyes, as if she were looking at a rippling reflection. She put a hand down to steady herself.

And then everything was normal again.

Chloe's hand gripped her shoulder. "Max?"

"I'm okay. Just a little tired I guess."

"We can head back now."

They rose, but Max paused a moment to take another looked at the battered tree. Broken and stripped of bark, it still bore that inscription of love.

Glancing up, Max could spot tight clusters of stars appearing in the still-darkening sky. There were more than she normally could spot in town–because there were far fewer lights now in town. Breathing deeply of the cold November air, Max tried to take it all in. The good and the bad. The wondrous and the terrible. It was still a lot to process, but, in spite of everything, Max was so grateful to be here standing in the rubble with Chloe.

She leaned into Chloe and wrapped her arms around her, burying her face in Chloe's neck. "I love you," she murmured.

Chloe squeezed her tightly. "And _that_ will cover your fare back home."

#

The scent of grease and grilled meat filled Chloe's nostrils the moment they stepped into Blackwell's cafeteria. The smell was hella better than when she used to be a student. The sound level was different too. Used to be full of chatter, all those Vortex bitches giggling at the central tables with the football pricks and their too-loud macho boasts ("I caught a pass _this_ long." "Hey you know what else is this long..."). The cafeteria was a different world now, still noisy, but the swell of conversation was more muted and punctuated by crying babies and at least one bout of sobbing per meal. Hella depressing. But then it was food central for the Bay refugees. People who'd lost their homes to the storm. People like her and her family.

Max was looking around, her gaze lingering on the families crowded around the cafeteria tables. They did this every day and Max still got that pained look on her face every time, as if all this were her fault. And fuck that! Superpowers didn't come with instruction manuals.

She elbowed Max in the ribs. "Told you'd I'd get you home in time for dinner."

Max smiled. "I should never doubt my faithful chauffeur."

"Faithful chauffeur _and_ companion," Chloe said, wrapping an arm around Max's waist as they picked their way through the crowded room toward the food line. She glanced around, daring anyone to say something–but no one did. She was almost disappointed. She wouldn't mind blowing off some steam, and telling someone off when they well and truly deserved it would do the trick nicely. They did get the stink eye from a middle aged woman with a fading blond dye job, but she looked away quickly when Chloe glared at her.

As they passed a table, Max waved, and Chloe realized it was one of their tent neighbours–a middle aged couple with a pre-teen girl and two dogs. FEMA had promised trailers, but so far only a few had materialized, and most people were still camped out in tents in the Bigfoots field–her and Max included. They'd spent a couple of weeks in Seattle with Max's folks but when Max had decided she needed to come back, they'd had to set up shop with all the other post-storm hobos. Booyah for camping. Chilly at this time of year, but not so bad when you got to share your sleeping bag.

And of course, there was Joyce decked out in a grease-stained apron, handing out dinner plates. And here Chloe had been hoping she'd still be in the kitchen. "There you girls are. I thought I was going to have to warm up something for you again."

Chloe huffed. "That only happened a couple of times."

"It smells great tonight, Joyce," Max said with a smile as Joyce served her a plate with what appeared to be a hamburger with honest-to-God meat in it.

"Did FEMA finally run out of Spam and hot dogs?" Chloe said as she got a burger of her own along with a side of salad–actual green salad rather than glow-in-the-dark coleslaw.

"A church group from Newport donated a freezer-full of ground beef and sacks of veggies today." Chloe lifted the hamburger bun and peered inside. "You're too late for ketchup. We ran out ten minutes go. Mustard and relish over there," she said, using her serving tongs to point towards the stand on one side of the room.

"Shitballs."

"Thank you, Joyce. I can't wait. I'm starved!" Max always knew what to say to make mom happy–which made one of them.

Joyce nodded. "Oh and there's another box of stuff to sort through for the lost and found if you feel up to it."

Fuck. Every time Max went through those boxes she ended up a sniffling mess. She said that she at least wanted to try to help people reclaim their belongings–especially the family photos–but as far as Chloe was concerned Max was just beating herself up, telling herself over and over that the clusterfuck funnel had been all her fault.

"Great," Chloe said. "Homework. It's just like being back in school."

Max shook her head. "I don't mind. It keeps me busy in the evening."

Chloe leaned into Max. "If you want something to keep you busy I'm pretty sure I could manage that."

"You don't come equipped with wifi," Max returned without missing a beat.

"Ow! _Burn!_ " Chloe said, holding her tray in one hand and holding the other to her heart.

A rueful smile from Max and then, "Come on, drama queen, you're holding up the line." And then, with another thank you to Joyce, Max headed over to the condiments bar for mustard. Or relish.

#

Even when she'd been a Blackwell student, Chloe had never been one to spend time at the Bigfoots field. Jocks playing a glorified game of fetch? Pass. Or fumble. Or whatever. Now it was her home–another of Arcadia Bay's sick little jokes.

Floodlights illuminated the field, their stark white beams like a spotlight on the survivors' collective misfortune. The FEMA tents were white domed things, like giant albino turtle shells and were large enough to house an entire family. But a lot of people had already set up shop here before the feds had showed up, using scrounged or donated camping gear. The tents came in all shapes and sizes and in a rainbow of colours, a splash of chaos alongside the orderly FEMA additions. Porta-potties lined the sides of the field and on a bad day, a southbound breeze would carry the stench down their way. Definitely a shithole.

Max had already done a photo shoot of the place for the before and after project. It had been one of the most obvious shots to do.

Chloe sighed as she hefted the lost and found box to their tent. The place made her grumpy, especially with the damn floodlights on. Her boots squished through the once pristine turf, now reduced to muck. Darting a glance at Max, she caught one of those anguished looks on her face. She wanted to reach out and put an arm around her–to remind Max that she wasn't alone in this mess, that they were partners... but she was carrying the damn box.

"Home sweet hut," Chloe announced as they reached the tent they'd borrowed from Max's parents. Why they had ever thought lime green was a great colour for a tent she wasn't certain–maybe there'd been a sale. Max unzipped the flap and Chloe ducked inside and deposited the box in the centre of the tent. They spent a few minutes setting up some battery-operated lamps and arranging their assorted stuff so it was out of the way.

Chloe heaved a sigh. "I could hella use a shower about now." Since she had nothing better to do, she spent most days helping to clear debris. The national guard was working on clearing roads, and the city had signed a contract with some company in California that was used to cleaning up earthquake debris, but that didn't help with private property. No, that glorious task was left to volunteers. She couldn't help Max with her photos, but hauling trash into bins was doable. And hey the chainsaw had been fucking awesome.

"You could try the swim room showers," Max said. "There probably isn't a lineup now."

"Communal showers. Let me think..." She paused to rub her chin as if considering the matter deeply. "Nope. Not that desperate yet."

Max sat down, hugging her knees. "It would be nice if the dorms had power again." The storm had eaten up transformers and crocheted power lines all over town. It was going to be a while still before the power companies managed to restore service everywhere. Blackwell was currently running on some huge-ass generators provided by the national guard so only essential areas like the cafeteria and the Otters' shower rooms were in service. Both the boys' and girls' dorms were closed until power was restored.

"Hey at least your Blackwell pals were nice enough to collect all your stuff for you. You've actually got a working laptop." Chloe's laptop had perished with her family's house along with pretty much everything she owned except her cell phone.

A faint smile made its way to Max's lips. "Yeah. It was really good of Dana to do that."

"We've got some time to kill. I picked up a deck of cards today," Chloe said, producing the deck from her pocket. She slid the cards out of the box and riffled them as she spoke. "We could play Crazy Eights. Just like old times. Or," she went on, with a sly smile, "I could always teach you to play strip poker."

Max laughed. "You know I can't bluff to save my life."

"I'm banking on it." When she looked up from the deck, she could see a flush to Max's cheeks. She was so easy; it was adorable. "You're too cute, hippie. I'm gonna have to come over there and ravish you or something."

Glancing over her shoulder at the all-too-thin tent walls, Max grimaced. "I'd rather not put on a show for everyone." And then Max's gaze turned to the box and Chloe knew she'd lost her. "I should start in on this stuff anyway."

Sighing, Chloe set down the cards. "You don't have to."

Max shook her head. "At least it's something I can do."

Not for the first time in the past few weeks, Chloe found herself wanting to shake Max. She wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake the guilt out of her. Because it wasn't her fault that those stupid fucking powers had somehow caused a goddam time tornado, that somehow Chloe Price getting a second chance at life meant the universe had to take a bite out of Arcadia Bay. Well fuck the universe. At least they'd taken down that sicko Jefferson along with the town. Whatever else had happened, that alone was worth it.

But instead, Chloe shuffled across the tent floor and sat down close to Max so that their knees were touching.

The box was full of the usual assortment of odds and ends, with a pile of photos at the bottom. The usual drill was to wipe off any dried mud and dirt that they could and then photograph the items and post a note on the Arcadia Bay Lost and Found Facebook page. The stuff then got placed in the official storage room for lost possessions until someone came forward to claim it. It was hella depressing most of the time, sorting through pieces of people's lives that had been scattered all over town by the tornado.

The first thing in today's pile was a blue varsity jacket with fifty-six cents in one pocket and packet of gum in the other. After that was an Ipod, still in working condition. Chloe flipped through the musical selections and grimaced. "Boy bands."

There was a tangle of beaded necklaces, a Bible with a personal inscription on the inside cover, a trumpet which Max absolutely forbade Chloe from trying out, and a Spiderman lunchbox. After that, at the very bottom of the box, were the photos.

Nearly all were muddied and stiff from having been wet and dried off, making even recent photos look ancient. Some were torn or missing edges. There were baby pictures, school portraits, graduation photos, family trips– the usual stuff. Chloe brushed flecks of dirt off them one by one and tried not to look too closely.

Chloe was piling everything back up to be put away again, grateful that Max had managed to get through tonight without getting too teary–only one Kleenex needed; a new record!–when Max peered into the empty box. "Think we missed one." Max reached into the box and then recoiled as if she'd been bitten by something.

"Max?" The colour had drained from her face. "Dude, what wrong?" She didn't answer, just stared at the box. There was indeed one last photo at the bottom. Chloe snatched it up... and felt the hamburger in her gut start to churn.

It was a black and white image of a girl, lying on her side. A puffy mane of blond hair was elaborately piled on her head and appeared to have been hair-sprayed into submission. A spangled shirt poked out from under a faded denim jacket. Dark eyeliner stained her lids, which drooped as if she were only barely awake. Her eyes were glazed over.

When Max finally spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. "It looks like one of Jefferson's photos."

Chloe swallowed and licked her lips, her mouth feeling suddenly sandpapery. "It's a coincidence. It has to be."

Max reached out to touch the photo. Her fingers grazed the muddied surface of the image. And she went limp against Chloe's shoulder.

#

Max had seen Arcadia Bay destroyed many times: in her visions, in an alternate timeline, in her nightmares, and once, too, in reality.

But what she saw now was different. Max found herself standing on Arcadia Bay's main drag and what she saw was not destruction, but desolation. Stores with boarded up windows. Roofs almost stripped of shingles. Rusty gas pumps. Empty shopfronts. For sale signs that looked as beaten down as the buildings.

Her voice shook. "What the fuck is happening?" There were no cars, no people. Her voice was the only sound and even it seemed oddly muted.

 _I was in the tent with Chloe and I looked at that photo..._

Max's heart lurched. So did her stomach and for a few seconds she was afraid she was going to puke.

But then she could hear what Chloe would tell her, "Come on, Supermax, chill the fuck down and figure this out." She drew in a deep breath and then another. Chloe might not be here–wherever here was–but it was comforting to know she had her own personal inner Chloe to help her keep it together.

Max reached into her pocket for her phone. It was there but when she tried to turn in on, the screen remained dark. Okay. So definitely more supernatural shit. Great.

"Let's review," she said to no in particular, just because the silence was starting to creep her out. There weren't even birds calls or the sound of ocean waves. Even the air seems stale, though in reality there was always a salty breeze off the bay.

She'd been looking at the creepy photo and then she'd been here. That was one of the reasons she'd started using her dad's camera: so she wouldn't have to worry about going back in time into a photo. But she hadn't focussed on the image, hadn't felt that fuzziness she'd experienced before when moving through time via photos. And it wasn't a photograph of her so she shouldn't have been able to reach into it anyway. None of this made sense.

Craning her neck up, she found herself staring at a billboard for the Prescott's Pan Estates. Scrawled across it, a faded red banner proclaimed "cancelled".

#

Max's eyes snapped opened and she was in the tent again. Chloe had an arm around her shoulders and was urgently repeating her name. "Max! Come on, Max! Don't pull this shit on me again."

"Chloe." Her voice sounded shaky.

Chloe held her by the shoulders. "You back with me?"

Max nodded. "Yeah. But... Chloe... I had another vision." Just saying it aloud was almost too much. She threw herself into Chloe's arms and held on to her as tightly as she could. She'd sacrificed everything to keep Chloe with her; she wouldn't let Arcadia Bay taker her away again.

"Max? Earlier tonight when we were looking at that tree... Did anything... weird happen?"

Max stiffened. "I–I'm not sure. For a second I felt... like my vision wasn't clear."

"Like stuff went all wobbly for second?"

She drew back to look at Chloe. "How did you know?"

"Cuz I saw it too. I wasn't sure it was real but..."

A shiver ran down Max's spine. She'd come back to Arcadia Bay hoping to make things better, just a _little_ better if she could. Not to somehow put the whole town–and Chloe–in danger all over again.

"Chloe, I can't do this again. I just... can't." Cocooned in Chloe's arms, Max could feel the heat radiating from her friend's body, could feel the rapid thrum of her heartbeat. Chloe, her Chloe, so vibrantly alive in ever fibre of her being, every pore. She wouldn't let Arcadia Bay snuff her out. Not ever.

"It's gonna be okay, Max. We'll figure this out."

And wrapped up in Chloe, Max could almost believe it was true.


	2. Two: Ghosts and Monsters

**Two: Ghosts and Monsters**

Warren's room was pretty much what Chloe had expected for a science geek. There was a Mystery Science Theatre 3000 poster on one side of the room and, on the other side, what appeared to be an anatomical diagram of Godzilla. A bookcase held a mix of SF and Fantasy novels, Darwin's _The Origin of Species_ , a collection of cult films, and a couple of World of Warcraft figures still pristine in their boxes. Of course that also meant the room had lots of USB ports so everyone could charge their various devices at once. That was one of the reasons she and Max made a daily trip here.

A showerhead hissed to life in the adjacent room. That was the other reason.

Boots propped up on Warren's desk, Chloe leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind her head and listened to the sound of rushing water and the staccato rhythm of Warren's one-handed typing. Seated on his bed with his laptop, he pecked at his laptop's keyboard with his right hand; his left arm was still in a cast, covered in colourful signatures.

"Hey," Chloe said, balancing on the back legs of the chair.

"Hmm?"

"Are you thinking about Max in the shower? You know, all covered in lather and soap suds?"

"W–what?" Warren stammered. "No!"

"Really? Because I totally am." She glanced over her shoulder to see Warren looking red in the face and staring at his laptop screen with unflinching determination. Score. He was just as easy as Max.

Max. Chloe had to admit that she found herself thinking about Max an awful lot these days. She thought about her when they were curled up together in their sleeping bag and when she was driving the junker. She thought about her while she was hauling pieces of people's demolished homes into trash bins and when Max was taking photos of the destruction. It was sort of weird to not see someone for five years and then boom! You fall for them. Weird, but hella awesome too. Didn't hurt that Max had grown into a total hottie. Chloe wanted to run her hands over every inch of her skin and press her lips to every one of her freckles. Not to mention an assortment of other things that would make her little hippie blush.

But sadly, she couldn't spend the next twenty minutes daydreaming about Max's dips and curves–much as she would've liked to. There was bidness to attend to.

She drew her feet off the desk and turned so she was straddling the chair, facing Warren. "Have you heard any news about the Jefferson case?"

He glanced up. "News?"

"Yeah. It's not like I can check on Max's laptop without her noticing."

Warren looked confused. "Why don't you want her to notice?"

Chloe glanced in the direction of the bathroom. The water was still running steadily. "Dude, she's got enough on her mind right now." And last night hadn't helped any. More ominous visions. Fucktastic. That's just what Max needed. "Look, have they found that dipshit's body or not?"

"You mean Nathan?" Warren said, keep his voice low even though there was no way Max could hear them over the streaming water.

"Yes. I mean Nathan, Jefferson's fucking Sith apprentice."

And in spite of everything, Warren's lips twitched at the Star Wars reference. Good thing she knew how to speak geek. "No, they're still looking. Newport News Times has been covering it. But it doesn't sound good. If they don't find a body they can only charge him with the photos and he's claiming Nathan set him up anyway."

"Motherfucker." Chloe rose and pushed the chair into the desk with a clatter. "I wish I'd shot him when I had the chance," she said under her breath, arms crossed as she glared at Godzilla on the wall. Jefferson was more a monster than that giant lizard would ever be.

"Wait, what did–"

"Never mind." She spun and stood over Warren, scowling. "Look... can you keep an eye on the news and text me anything you find out?"

"Yeah, I can do that." He licked his lips, looking nervous all of a sudden. "Is Max... okay? I mean she seems to be taking things really hard."

Chloe almost laughed. Understatement of the fucking century. But she couldn't explain that to Warren. Or to anyone. "You could say that." She paced around his room, pulling books and DVDs off the shelves and reading their spines. "She just needs to do her project. That'll help."

Warren nodded. "At least that's something I can do. I've scanned all the photos she gave me and I was able to up the resolution. It's looking like Bayfore and After will be good to go soon."

"Dude, they are never calling it that."

Warren held out his hands and shrugged. "Hey I thought it was funny."

Chloe rolled her eyes and continued poking around his room. "So how come you were living in the Blackwell dorms when your folks were in town?"

"My mom got a new job in Portland. They were planning to sell the house and move before the end of the semester." Warren sighed. "I don't know if they'll still be able to."

Chloe felt a twinge at that bit of info. More fallout from the storm, from Max letting her live. All told, Warren's family had been pretty damn lucky. Their garage had been skewered by a telephone pole, but the rest of the house had survived. Unlike Chloe's. And all the houses in Chloe's neighbourhood, which had been completely wiped off the face of Oregon.

"That's shitty."

"Hey I'm just glad to be alive. When your mom and the rest of us squeezed into that freezer, well... I think we all thought were toast."

Joyce had had everyone at the Two Whales take shelter in the old walk-in freezer when the storm had slammed into them. It was the reason everyone there was still alive. Warren and Frank had gotten banged up holding the doors closed since the freezer didn't lock from the inside–for obvious reasons. "She cooks, she cleans, she saves people from tornados. All in a day's work for Joyce Price." And then, eager to change the topic. "So how much longer till the cast comes off?"

"Another two weeks."

She leaned down to inspect the collection of signatures scrawled all over it in bright colours. Hers was written in blue: "Get hella better! P.S. Chicks dig scars." Brooke's message said that he still owed her a trip to the drive-in, and was surrounded by a pink heart. She tried to let her eyes slide past Max's but failed miserably. "I'm so sorry. Get well soon." From anyone else it would've been a generic message, but from Max it was an apology.

Finally the bathroom door opened and Max appeared, decked out in generic jeans and a slightly punkish tee, black with a peaked red line like the heart rate on a hospital monitor. Chloe gathered up her stuff in preparation for her own turn in the shower. "The laundry?" Max asked.

"Laundering." That was the third reason they came to Warren's house–to borrow the appliances and get clean clothes once a week. "Mmmm," Chloe said, leaning into Max and sniffing her hair. "You're all fresh and clean."

Max gave her a playful shove towards the door. "And you're still all dirty. Get in there."

"Oh I like it when you get bossy."

She didn't turn to look, but she was pretty sure Warren would be blushing again.

#

The destruction looked worse by daylight, an entire block levelled, reduced to nothing but chunks of shredded lumber and piles of soggy insulation. The roads had been cleared, but the lots where the houses had once stood were still in their original state save for a few places where families and volunteers had already begun the cleanup.

The morning was overcast, giving the day a greyish sheen, but Max could easily make out the names now, carved into the wood of the broken tree: Susan + Michelle.

It had been Chloe's idea to come back here in daylight. "Return to the scene of the crime," she'd said, but her anxiety shone through her bravado like a too-bright flash washing out a photograph. But she was right. They'd both felt something strange here last night so it was a place a start.

Next to her, Chloe was fidgeting, hands darting into her pockets, coming out with her car keys or some spare change, and then darting back in. Max snatched one of those fluttering hands in hers and intertwined their fingers.

"Chloe–"

"No doom and gloom, Max," Chloe cut in before she could get any further. She squeezed Max's hand. "Together."

A tiny smile made its way to Max's lips. "Forever."

And then Max took a deep breath and let her fingers brush over the carved names.

"Anything?" Chloe asked after a moment.

"Nope."

"Huh. Well that was anticlimactic."

Max tried to remember last night. What had been different? The dark. The stars. The way she'd traced the carved lines. Chloe's fingers were still entwined with hers, and it dawned on her... "We need to touch the carving at the same time."

"Makes sense." And then, with a shrug, "As much as any of this time travel shit makes sense anyway." She took a deep breath. "Should we do, one, two, three, go! Or–"

Max rolled her eyes, but she couldn't suppress a smile even with the roiling in her stomach. "Just put your hand down."

And Chloe did, her hand pressing over the carved letters, close against Max's fingers.

The world rippled. Max's breath caught in her throat. It was like everything had become fluid. Except for Chloe. Her hand was solid and real, gripping Max's fingers with steely determination.

For several seconds, the world danced before Max's eyes. When it settled, she found her finger still pressed to the carving, still next to Chloe's, but the tree itself was different. There was bark on its trunk, thick with diamond-like ridges. When she raised her eyes she could see a whole and living tree, not the skeletal remains that she'd been kneeling next to a minute ago. Branches sprawled out in a leafy canopy, casting Max in its shade.

"Shit," she heard Chloe mumble next to her. Next to her. Wherever–whenever–they were, they were together. Max stared at Chloe's familiar face, overwhelmed with a mix of awe and relief. "Was it like that when you used your powers on photos?"

Max shook her head. "No, this is... different." She moved her hand away and she could still see the inscription carved into the tree, Susan + Michelle, surrounded by a heart. It was the same tree.

Chloe stood, tugging Max up next to her. That was when Max turned to look at her and gasped. "What are you wearing?" The tree wasn't the only thing that was the same but different. Chloe's leather jacket and white skull tank top had been replaced by a faded denim jacket overtop a black Metallica T-shirt. Her legs were encased in high-waisted acid wash jeans.

"What about you? You look like you were attacked by a Bon Jovi concert."

Glancing down, Max found she was wearing white stonewashed jeans and a black T-shirt with silver spangles in the shape of a cross. And fishnet sleeves to top it off.

Chloe grimaced as she inspected her own outfit. She grabbed the top button of her jeans and stared down into her pants. "Dude, am I wearing someone else's underwear?"

Max wrinkled her nose and tried not to think too much about that. "I think we probably have bigger problems than that."

While Chloe continued to inspect (and make scathing comments about) her new wardrobe, Max made a point of observing their surroundings. The tree stood in the back corner of a fenced yard, its grass brilliant green in the sunshine and immaculately trimmed. Birdcalls were intermingled with the rumble of lawnmowers, and Max was certain she could smell the smoky scent of meat on a barbeque grill somewhere nearby. Ahead, a house with white siding reminded her painfully of Chloe's home, now nothing but broken timbers. It looked to be the same generic two-story style so common in Arcadia Bay.

"This is so fucking weird," Chloe said.

"For cereal. Do you think this is real? It's not like before."

A wicked smile lit up Chloe's face. "Well let's test it out."

Chloe's lips crashed into hers. Her mouth was hot and fierce and insistent. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once, in Max's hair, darting under her shirt, sliding up her spine, caressing the nape of her neck. It was all Max could do to just dig her fingers into the fabric of Chloe's denim jacket and hold on, her thoughts aswirl and her heart making a mad dash against her rib cage.

And then, just as suddenly, she broke away, leaving Max panting and unsteady on her feet.

"Did that feel real to you?" Chloe sounded a little out of breath herself.

"Definitely real." Taking a deep breath, Max tried to get a grip on her racing pulse and get her brain to focus on their peculiar situation... rather than on how much she really _really_ wanted Chloe to kiss her again. "We should... uh... maybe go check out the house?"

"One sec. Need to do a little time travel experiment first." Max was about to ask what when she noticed Chloe had fished something out of the denim jacket's pocket, a metallic oval object. It wasn't until Chloe knelt down next to the tree trunk again and flipped open the blade, that Max realized it was a pocket knife. As far as she knew, Chloe didn't carry a pocket knife around so it must have come with the jacket. Weird.

Using the blade, Chloe began etching her name into the tree trunk, just above the other two names.

"Come on, Chloe. We don't have time to mess around. We don't even know how we'll get back."

"We could click our heels and say 'There's no place like home.'" Max crossed her arms and gave Chloe her best 'not impressed' look. "Besides, this is a legit experiment." She carved Max's name below her own and then added a plus sign between the two. "Done. Now we can go exploring. After you, Captain Max."

Together they crossed the lawn and headed for the screen doors on the back of the house. A dog bark from the next yard nearly startled Max out of her skin but then, taking a deep breath, she slid open the screen door and stepped inside.

Chloe's gaze slid across the room and with a snort she announced, "This is not 2013."

A large tube TV occupied the centre of the living room. Hooked up to it with a mess of cables were a VCR and a grey and purple game console. VHS tapes were stacked up next to it, with hand written labels on the spines. Across from the TV loomed an overstuffed leather couch in a pale teal shade.

Chloe approached the stack of tapes and began reading off the labels. "Cheers. MacGyver. The Golden Girls." She shot Max an incredulous look. "These are all shows that ended before I was even born."

Max ambled over to a bookcase in the corner that had a CD player–no wait... it was a _cassette_ player. Next to it, stacked like decks of cards, were albums on cassette tape, only a few from singers she'd heard of. There was _Through the Storm_ by Aretha Franklin and _Nick of Time_ by Bonnie Raitt. And after those rather pointed album titles Max decided to turn her attention elsewhere. Late eighties, early 90s was her guess, but she'd have to do some Googling when they got back. Assuming they got back.

She wandered over to the kitchen with its faux-wood cabinets with brass hardware. On a large beige fridge a magnet advertising Tae Bo classes held up a note, handwritten on floral notepaper. Max pulled it off the fridge. "Chloe, look at this."

 _Susan,_

 _You've been spending so much time with your friend Michelle lately and your father and I are a little worried. Exclusive friendships aren't healthy. You need to spend more time with other people your age._

Chloe, reading over her shoulder snorted. "'Other people'. She means boys."

"There's more," Max said, turning the paper over.

 _Mindy has a son about your age. You remember him, don't you? Stewart? He was a couple of years ahead of you in school. I've invited him over for dinner so make sure you're ready by seven sharp. And please wear something nice. None of those ripped clothes you and your friends like so much._

The word "nice" had been underlined several times for emphasis.

Chloe snatched the note from Max's hand. "Guess Susan's set off her mom's gaydar. I bet they're having hot monkey sex while she's out."

" _Chloe_ ," Max admonished. "You don't know that."

"They're totally gay and totally going at it when her folks are out. And her parents are freaking. They probably found undies that didn't belong to Susan in the wash–amateur mistake." Slowly, Max turned to glance at Chloe, one eyebrow raised. Chloe shrugged. "Shit happens, long story. So... do we want to stick around and meet mom and Stewart?"

Max winced. "I don't think so. Let's just get out of here while we still have time."

Chloe grinned. "Good call." She reached into the pocket of her borrowed denim jacket and produced a set of car keys. "How about we go find out what these belong to?"

When they walked out the front door, they found a single car in the driveway, a rusty, rectangular, Dijon-mustard-coloured Ford Escort. Chloe looked from the keys to the aging car. "Guess I'm not the only one driving a piece of shit."

Max winced. "At least your truck isn't yellow."

The pleather seats were ripped at the seams and a faint skunk-like scent lingered inside. Chloe jammed the key into the ignition. On the third try, the motor started and she tore out of the driveway.

#

And just like that they were back. Back in the debris-filled yard next to the naked tree, which stood there like a sun-baked bone. They were still kneeling next to it, each with a hand over the carved names.

Chloe was the first to move her hand, drawing back and peering at the spot where she'd carved their own names during their foray into the 1990s. "Check this out, Max." She tapped the debarked tree. "Nothing there now, just Susan + Michelle."

Max shook her head. "This is so strange. I know I was able to change things when I went through a photo."

"So I guess this is different. Like a movie instead the real thing?"

Sitting back, Max felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She had just wanted to come back and take pictures, to try to help make things a tiny bit better for the residents of Arcadia Bay. Now this. "Why is this happening? And what does this have to do with that weird photo and with my vision?"

Chloe glared at the mess of broken homes. "It's this fucking town." She shook her head. "It's full of ghosts... and monsters."

Max let her eyes wander over the broken shape of the tree. The initials had been carved into it before she'd even been born. Susan and Michelle. She wondered where they were now. Her eyes followed the gnarled roots, where the tree had been partially uprooted... and then caught on something out of place. A hard corner among the roots. A ninety degree angle–that wasn't natural. Nosy as she'd always been, she couldn't just leave it at that. She scooted closer to the tree and reached into the muddy earth around the roots.

"Max? You digging for buried treasure?"

"There's something here." She tried to push away handfuls of muck from around the edges. "It's metal."

Chloe sighed. "Just remember, no showers until tomorrow morning." And then, with a grimace, she buried her hands in the mud and dirt and helped Max dig.

"A toolbox maybe?"

Chloe shrugged. "Aren't they usually red?"

There was mud deep under her fingernails by the time they managed to tug the box out. It was a plain metal rectangle, about the size of a shoe box, rusted all along the edges. The tree roots, or perhaps the storm, had left a huge dent in the left side box, causing it to warp so that a gap had formed between the box and the lid, and mud had seeped inside of it. Chloe grimaced as she reached in and came back with a squirming earth worm. "Ugh gross." She tossed in back into the mud. "Lid's jammed," she said after giving it a tag. "Maybe it's buried treasure."And then, in her best pirate voice, "Arr! Let's get this booty back ta arrr fine vessel."

Max straightened. "I be the Captain here. Ya keep that in mind or ye'll be swabbing the deck, matey."

"I'll swab ye deck anytime, Captain, just say the word."

Max giggled. Chloe could make anything sound like a come on–even in pirate speak.


	3. Three: Poster Child

**Three: Poster Child**

Joyce was peeling potatoes in the cafeteria kitchen when Max arrived, pushing a cart stacked high with boxes of maccaroni. "Hi Joyce. I've got a delivery for you."

The lines beneath Joyce's eyes gave away her weariness, but the smile on her face as she turned to Max made her eyes shine. "Good to see you, Max. Just put that in the corner. One of the boys can unload it later."

"Are you on your own today?"

Joyce shook her head. "My helpers are off getting some rest before the dinner stampede."

Max joined her at the prep counter where the peeled potatoes were stacked in a huge pot. On the floor, a bin was half full of peels, and next to it were several huge bags of potatoes. The counter was already slimy with starch. "I can peel for a while if you want to take a break."

"No time for a break, but I could use some company."

"I can do both." Soon she was set up next to Joyce with a paring knife and her own pile of potatoes. Taking slow swipes at the peel, she did her best to avoid her fingertips with the blade. Max had to admit, it had been a while since she'd done any peeling.

Joyce's blade flicked and flashed, making short work of the peels. "Seems like I hardly see you without Chloe in tow these days."

"She's helping with cleanup on Cedar Street today."

For a moment, Joyce's knife was still, poised over another potato. Her expression was far away. "I can hardly believe how much she's changed over the past few weeks."

"Changed?" Max repeated, thinking about herself, the changes she'd been through. She wasn't the shy hipster she'd been in September. As Chloe would say, she was less chickenshit. But she'd also let so many people get hurt–or worse–and she felt the weight of that every day. Sometimes, when it hit her all at once, she could hardly breathe. A name, a photograph, an overheard sniffle–any little thing could set it off and then it was all she could do to keep from dissolving into tears. But Chloe? Chloe was Chloe, beautiful and broken and perfect all at the same time. If she'd changed at all it was only in the intensity of her care and concern for Max.

Joyce shook her head and went on with the peeling. "I was sure that as soon as she got out of Arcadia Bay she'd never look back. But she came back for you, Max."

"It wasn't her first choice," Max admitted. In fact Chloe had described Arcadia Bay as 'the one place in the whole fucking world' she didn't want to be. "But I felt like I had to do something. I couldn't just stay in Seattle and pretend that nothing had happened."

"She may not like being here, but I haven't seen Chloe this happy in years. She lights up like a Christmas tree whenever she sees you."

And that comment made all the blood rush into Max's cheeks. "Wowser." Distracted as she was, she very nearly sliced open her finger when the paring knife skidded across the potato's slick surface.

"There's a peeler around here somewhere if you'd rather."

"Thanks, Joyce," Max said and proceeded to search the counter until she found the implement in question and her face had started to lose its flush.

"I'm so glad you came back into Chloe's life. You've been a good influence." And then, with a laugh, "Though I'll admit I wasn't expecting a whirlwind romance."

A wry smile curled Max's lips. "I wasn't expecting it either." Thin strands of peel piled up on the counter as Max hacked away at the potato. "I'm sorry she dropped it on you like that." It had come up about five minutes after they'd arrived in Arcadia Bay, something like, 'We're sharing a tent. Oh and by the way, we're hella gay," followed by a very public display of affection that had left Max very red in the face. "I'm just glad you weren't angry. You know about..." _About us being gay_. She was still getting used to the idea really. Chloe liked to tease her about it, 'You're dating a girl. You are gay,'. It was like she somehow instinctively picked up on Max's disorientation (Was sexual disorientation a thing? Should it be, maybe?).

"I just want Chloe to be happy. And to find some direction in her life." When Joyce set down her paring knife and the half-peeled potato clutched in her hand, Max paused to glance at her. She looked serious and tired, as if the fallout of the storm had settled on her shoulders like a sodden wool shawl. "I know you had to make some difficult choices when the storm hit, Max."

Max froze. "What did Chloe tell you?"

Joyce let out a long breath. "Just that you had to choose between getting some other people out of harm's way or Chloe."

 _Oh Joyce... You don't know the half of it._ Max was gripping the peeler like a weapon, her knuckles white. Chloe or Arcadia Bay. What kind of shitty choice was that? And would letting Chloe bleed to death on the bathroom floor really have made the world a better place? She blinked rapidly, trying to keep it together, trying to keep the fury and the grief in check, like a couple hound tugging at their leashes, threatening to pull her down.

"I can't image how hard that must have been, Max. But I want you to know I will _always_ be grateful to you for saving my daughter." Max could hear the catch in her voice. Joyce was probably the only person in all of Arcadia Bay who had any reason to be grateful for what Max had done.

Too choked up to reply, Max focussed on peeling for a minute or so until the lump in her throat had gone away. "I would never let anything happen to Chloe, not if I had any choice."

"I'm glad you're looking out for her. She's lucky to have you."

Max smiled, feeling warm and fuzzy as she thought of her best friend–her _girlfriend_. "I think we're lucky to have each other."

#

"Shit," Chloe grumbled as she leaned into the cab of her truck and pawed at the space beneath the front seat. All she wanted was a damn screwdriver and she knew there was one in her truck. Somewhere.

She'd already checked the box of odds and ends on the floor and rummaged through the glove compartment. No screwdriver. Apparently screwdriver in a junkheap was the modern version of needle in a haystack. Except hella gross. So far she'd come up with a chocolate bar wrapper, some stale chips, fifty-four cents, and some math homework she'd forgotten to turn in two years ago. All very useful.

Parked as she was, right on the edge of the football field/camping ground, she could hear the clamour of displaced families–a mix of chatter, screaming kids, and barking dogs. It was a wonder she got any sleep at night. You could hear people coming and going at all hours: letting pets out to do their business, heading to the porta-potties to do their own business, arguing, crying, giggling, or grunting and groaning in a way that suggested the tent had been transformed into a love shack. It almost made her miss home. Almost. But spending each night cuddled up with Max, even if it was cramped and chilly, was a million times better than being stuck in the same house as David.

Chloe's hand darted further under the driver's seat and closed around something solid. Finally! The moment her hand came back out, though, she realized she was gripping the butt of a gun.

"Shit!" She shoved it back under the seat. The last thing she needed was for David to find out she still had his missing gun. Max wasn't crazy about it either so she made a point of not reminding her.

This time, something cold and metallic brushed against her hand. She replaced the gun and grabbed the metal rod which, when it emerged turned out to be the metal shaft the tool she'd been searching for. It was just what she needed to pop the lid of that rusty box they'd found.

Chloe slammed the driver side door shut, but as she turned, she noticed she was being stared at. A middle-aged blond woman standing outside a drab and slightly muddy tent was watching her. Chloe scowled. It was the same lady who'd been giving her and Max the evil eye yesterday in the cafeteria. "Yes," she said loudly. "I'm the poster child for homeless gay youth in Oregon. Do you want an autograph or something?"

The woman turned quickly away and disappeared inside the tent. Chloe glared at the tent flap for another minute just in case the disapproving lady was planning to show her face again. When she didn't, Chloe relaxed and let out a long breath. Time to go crack that box.

She and Max had brought the rusty box back to their tent and set it on a garbage bag to keep it from muddying their makeshift home. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of tent, Chloe gripped the screwdriver like she was preparing to do battle. Okay so maybe her lock-picking skills weren't up to par. Forcing open a metal box, though? No problem.

Gripping the box with one hand, she jammed the screwdriver into the opening where the metal had warped. She jerked the metal shaft up. The box groaned. Flecks of dirt and rust powdered the garbage bag beneath it. Chloe grumbled a few choice words and tried again. The shaft skidded along the lid of the box, jerking her hand sideways and slicing open her pinkie finger. "Shit!"

She sucked on her finger for a minute, glowering at the box. "I am not going to lose to a piece of shit antique." This time she held the box tightly and jerked the screwdriver up hard. The box groaned and gave, the lid finally coming loose. "Score!"

She snatched up her phone and texted Max: _Get your ass over here or I'm keeping all the treasure_

A few second later she got her reply: _Better not or you'll walk the plank. :P_

Chloe cringed. That message got her usual response: _No emoji_

When Max did crawl into the tent a few minutes later she had the look of an excited puppy. Chloe couldn't help herself; she grabbed Max's hand and tugged her closer so she could press her lips to the freckles on each cheek. Max giggled. "You have freckles," Chloe murmured, her lips trailing over Max's skin and moving down to find her mouth.

"You only just noticed this?" Max said, her lips brushing against Chloe's.

Chloe kissed her, holding her face in her hands, feeling Max's fingers resting on the small of her back. It was still hard to believe that this batshit crazy thing had happened to them: after five years apart they'd faced dangers together, told the world to fuck off, and, the cherry on top, fallen in love. Epic.

She drew back and gave Max a cheeky grin. "You're just so damn cute." _And I still can't believe that you're mine._ What were the odds that her best friend would come back and then turn out to be hella in-the-closet-gay? It would have been so easy for it to go another way, for her to end up pining over Max... the way she had over Rachel.

 _Annnnd_ , she didn't want to go there. Again. So instead she tapped the now loosened lid of the box. "Ready to check it out?"

Max took a moment to set down the camera that was still slung over her hip. "You already peeked. So, is it silver coins or gold bars?"

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Mostly dirt." She pulled back the lid and they peered into the soil that had seeped into the box. But through the earth, they could see bits and pieces protruding objects. "Ugh. I've still got dirt under my fingernails from digging this thing out," she said before reaching into the damp soil. Her fingers closed on something metallic. Brushing the dirt and bits of tree root away she discovered it was a small keepsake box with a miniature lock. Tugging at the lid revealed that it was locked. "Oh great another locked box." She shook it close to her ear. It rattled. "There's something in here."

"Maybe you can put your lock-picking skills to work again," Max suggested with a crooked smile.

Chloe huffed. "We can't all have super powers." She continued to shift through the dirt until her fingers reached a sheaf of papers at the bottom of the box. They were of different sizes and colours. Some looked like they'd been torn from spiral notepads while others were coloured note paper with purple or blue ink that had run down the pages, making them all but illegible. Wedged in between, though, were a handful of photos, all of the same two girls. One had bleach blond hair with a wide pink streak in it, ink on her shoulder and collar bone all the way down to her wrist (a black and blue tangle of thorny vines), dark lipstick, and mossy green eyes. The other girl with her piles of mascara and hairsprayed blond mane... was the same girl in the photo they'd found last night.

"Max..." She set the photos and the papers down. "You'd better look at these. Don't freak on me okay?"

A dry laugh escaped from Max's lips. "I think we're already past the 'flip my shit' stage but I'll try to keep the drama level low. " Chloe reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze as Max inspected the photos. She could feel the tension shooting through Max's body as she, too, recognised the girl in the photo.

Max took several deep breaths. "Wowser. So... these photos must be Susan and Michelle, right? I mean they were buried under the tree with their names on it. And that means that creepy photo was of one of them."

It was starting to get dark out, so Chloe turned on their lamps as Max kept flipping through the photos–looking for clues or whatever. She wished she knew what it all meant, but how did one creepy black and white photo, one box of buried keepsakes, and some crazy-ass visions connect?

The expression on Max's face–now like a kicked puppy instead of an excited one–made Chloe's chest clench. She turned her attention back to the box. Something off-white was poking out of the dirt in one corner. Digging in once again, her fingers closed on the object–something plastic and flat–and plucked it out. It was a bit squashed but it looked to be a hospital bracelet.

Chloe peered at it, holding it close to her face, trying to make out the faded print. "Huh. Why would someone keep this?"

Max glanced up. "You found something?"

"Yeah. Old hospital bracelet. Can't make out the name though. Here." She held it out to Max. Her girlfriend's fingers touched it and the world began to ripple.


	4. Four: Almost Fine

**Four: Almost Fine**

The moment the antiseptic scent filled Max's nostrils, she knew she was in a hospital.

The fluorescent lights and blank walls were secondary clues. A snort of disgust followed by, "I hella hate hospitals," reassured her; she was not alone. But when Max looked up, her eyes were greeted by a sight she'd hoped to never see again: Chloe lying in a hospital bed.

Max's heart was in her throat. "Are you all right?"

"Me? Dude, what about you?"

Confused, Max glanced down and tried to take stock of her situation. She was sitting in a plastic chair that was already making her rear end sore. Her right hand gripped Chloe's. Her left arm was in a sling. "Oh. I'm fine." At least she was in normal clothes–a super retro getup with black leggings and a plaid skirt topped off with a Nirvana tee, but still regular street clothes. Unlike Chloe, who donned a hospital gown.

Chloe reached up to rub the back of her neck and that familiar gesture filled Max with relief and gratitude. She could move–thank Dog! "This is so fucking weird," Chloe grumbled. And then she lifted the collar of her hospital gown and peeked down into it. "And this time I don't even have underwear." She glanced over at Max with an impish grin. "Are you blushing?"

"Am not."

Chloe shrugged. "I've got a giant bandage wrapped around my middle so I guess we probably shouldn't take advantage of the situation."

"Okay, Don Juan, I think we've got other things to worry about."

"Like?"

Max rolled her eyes. "Like can you read what's on your hospital bracelet?"

"Oh right."

Raising her right arm, Chloe twisted and turned it to read the plastic strap around her wrist. "Susan Baker."

Max considered this for a moment. It was just all so weird. "So I guess we're cosplaying as Michelle and Susan."

Frowning, Chloe peered at the bracelet for another minute. "Northwest Hospital mean anything to you?"

"Yeah, it's in Seattle."

"Guess the girls got out of the Bay. Lucky them."

"Umm... Chloe? Hospital."

"Aside from that. Nice shirt, by the way. Better than the spangles."

"Shut up," Max said with a laugh. Some of tension began to drain out of her and she let out a long breath. The last time she'd been in a hospital had been only slightly less nerve-wracking. But as she thought of Kate's room, filled with cheerful balloons and get well cards, she was struck by the lack of them here. There was just... nothing. As if these two had been all alone in Seattle without family or friends.

"Max?"

Giving herself a shake, Max turned her attention back to Chloe. "Seeing you like this scared the shit out of me." Her voice sounded fraught, though she'd wanted to say it calmly, like it wasn't a big deal–though it was totally a huge deal.

Chloe flashed a grin. "Hey I'm fine." She leaned closer and flinched. "Jesus! Almost fine." And then she pressed a kiss onto the top of Max's head. Max couldn't speak so she just intertwined her fingers with Chloe's. "I don't think I'll be wandering around though. So... do we just wait around here? Is there a time limit?"

Chloe's words were still hanging in the air when a woman walked into the room and stopped there in the doorway, clutching a lumpy handbag to her chest. Her bobbed hair curled around her ears in stiff brown locks that spoke of a bad dye job. The floral print of her dress reminded Max of some of the wallpaper at her grandmother's house. Her eyes fixed on Max. "Michelle." It came out in a breathy whisper and she paused to dab at her eyes with a tissue.

Max and Chloe exchanged a look. "Umm... hello," Max ventured.

"Hello, dear. How are you?"

Shifting in her seat, Max tried to ignore the discomfort of role playing someone she had never met and knew nothing about–besides her love for hairspray and Nirvana. _It isn't like before. Nothing we do here is going to affect the present._ "I'm fine."

The woman–Michelle's mom, she supposed, squeezed her handbag like a child might hug a plushie. "We should talk."

"Okay."

"Outside." Chloe's hand tightened around Max's fingers.

Max shook her head. "We can talk here." She saw the way the woman's eyes narrowed as she glanced at Chloe–or Susan rather. Max bristled, at–well whatever it was: suspicion, slight, or disapproval.

"I don't think we should discuss anything in front of your... friend."

"Girlfriend," Max and Chloe corrected at once. The discomfort on the woman's face was obvious and for several very long, very awkward seconds, she didn't say anything at all.

"Girlfriends," Chloe repeated, scowling. "You know? Fem-fuck buddies? Tongue and groove gals? Vagetarians?"

" _Chloe_ ," Max hissed, mortification making her want to crawl under her chair.

Michelle's mother cleared her throat and focussed all her attention on Max. "You should come home."

Even though she knew none of this was real, and no one was asking her to leave Chloe behind, Max felt a lump forming in her throat. Max just shook her head.

Michelle's mom turned to look at Chloe, hands spasming around the handbag. "You should go home too, Susan. You mother will take you back now that your father's gone."

Chloe snorted. "Fuck that."

The expression on the woman's face shifted from discomfort to annoyance. "The medical bills will crush you. You don't have insurance, do you? How do you think you're going to pay for the surgery? For that hospital bed?" She turned to look at Max, her eyes pleading. "Come home and we can work something out."

Max turned to look at Chloe and met her gaze. "No," she said without turning to look at Michelle's mom. "I'm never leaving her."

#

They were back in the tent.

Their hands remained outstretched, Chloe passing the hospital bracelet, and Max's fingers grazing its faded plastic label. It was as if no time had passed at all. Chloe reeled back, staring at the bracelet. "Didn't see that coming."

"I guess... I guess it's like the tree. If we both touch it we... see... something from the past."

Carefully, Chloe placed the bracelet with the locked memento box she'd discovered earlier. She considered the rusty metal box the objects had come from. "There's probably some other stuff in there. I'll have to sift through all the dirt."

"But what does this have to do with that vision I had? Whatever happened with Susan and Michelle was a long time ago–maybe even before we were born."

Chloe shifted over so she was close to Max, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We'll figure it out. Just like last time."

Hugging her knees, Max squeezed her eyes shut. She could still see the funnel inhaling her hometown. "That didn't turn out so well."

"Practice makes perfect?"

Sitting side by side, Max could feel Chloe's warmth seeping into her. She bled heat, always, as if a wildfire were burning just under the surface of her skin. It made her the perfect sleeping bag buddy for November camping, Max's own personal heating pack.

"I wonder what happened to Susan and Michelle. Why were they in the hospital?"

"Car accident?" Chloe suggested. And then, heaving a groan, "That was hella awkward."

"Yeah." She leaned her head against Chloe. "I'm so glad my parents didn't freak out." Those weeks in Seattle had been hard. Trying to come to terms with everything that had happened, trying to decide what do to next... There had been nightmares and sleepless nights and a lot of false steps. And Chloe had had her own baggage to deal with too. Max couldn't imagine how much harder all that would have been if, on top of it all, her parents had made a big deal of her dating Chloe.

"Yeah, they were cool about it. What would you have done if they hadn't been?"

A faint smile crept onto Max's lips. "We could've eloped I guess. We never did get that trip to Portland."

"Booyah!" Chloe said, giving Max a shake. "We still need to go! Beer, weed, doughnuts."

"And–"

"And books from Powell's. I know, I know, hippie."

Max glanced over at her father's camera, tucked away safely in its case where she'd set it down. Analog still had a special place in her heart, but she was worried about looking into a photograph and fucking up time. At least with digital she didn't have to stress about that since it was all on screen. Plus it saved Warren from having to scan her photos in for the project. "Once the project's done..."

"How's that coming along? You get some cool shots today?"

She shrugged. She'd photographed so much debris, so much destruction that she was starting to feel like one of those trashy reporters who just swooped in to survey the devastation and then drove right out of town again. The photos had to do more than just document what was left behind. People had to remember Arcadia Bay as a real living town, not just as a disaster site. "We still can't agree on a name and not everyone's agreed on which shots to use. Victoria has a good eye but she's a pain in the ass to work with."

"She's jealous because you're so fucking talented. And because you have a hot girlfriend."

That made Max smile, at least for moment. She didn't know what she'd do without Chloe by her side. But weariness had settled on her like the weight of the whole world.

Max lay down on her sleeping bag and stared up at the lime-coloured dome of the tent. She wished she knew why all this was happening. Did they piss off a minor deity at some point? A pirate god of old whom they'd forgotten to pay tribute to? Or maybe it was like Chloe had said... Arcadia Bay was full of ghost and monsters.

A flurry of rustling told her that Chloe had stretched out next to her. From the corner of her eye, Max could see Chloe, lying on her side, looking at her. Max turned onto her side and for a minute they lay like that, eyes locked on each other. She never got tired of looking into those blue eyes. She never got tired of the way Chloe looked at her, like she was something special.

Chloe reached out, but before her fingers quite reached Max's cheek, Max spoke her name. "Chloe? You're still muddy."

Hand hovering in midair, Chloe's eyes darted to her mud-caked fingernails. "Shitballs." She groaned and heaved herself back up. "I guess I'll have to go to the Otter showers and wash up. Pain in the ass." She rummaged around for a minute, stuffing a bar of soap in her pocket and slinging a clean towel over her arm. "You'd better get your beauty sleep. Your folks'll freak if you look like a zombie tomorrow."

Max groaned. "I'd forgotten about that." Ryan and Vanessa Caulfield had already been down to Arcadia Bay once, just a few days after she and Chloe had set up camp. They'd wanted to check on the living conditions, Max was sure, though they'd also made a big point of bringing piles of donated food and blankets that they'd collected at the office. They'd promised to make another trip soon. "Soon" was this weekend. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think about reassuring her parents that everything was totally fine when she was actually having crazy visions and semi-real time travel all over again.

Chloe paused, hand on the tent flap. "If you're not in some sort of sleepwear when I get back I'll undress you myself." She shot Max one of those impish grins of hers and then crawled out of the tent.

Sighing, Max began unlacing her sneakers.


	5. Five: Broken Bay

**Five: Broken Bay**

With his sprawling brown beard and preference for plaid, Ryan Caulfield had always reminded Chloe of a lumberjack. The black and red checkered flannel jacket he wore as he emerged from the shiny new silver Prius did nothing to dispel the image. Stepping out from the passenger side, Vanessa Caulfield donned a grey peacoat, and dark slacks; there was nothing rustic about Vanessa.

Chloe and Max wove through the army of cars parked in the Bigfoots lot to meet them. A quirk of the storm's path had resulted in many people losing their homes but not their cars, since most had been at work when the funnel had hit. Max waved. "Hi, mom. Hi, dad."

With her best swagger and her finest grin, Chloe spread her arms wide. "Welcome back to Squatter's Lane, capital of Broken Bay. We don't get many repeat visitors."

"We have a good incentive," Ryan said as he wrapped Max up in a bear hug.

" _Dad_ ," Max groaned but it was obviously only a token protest. Something in Chloe's chest felt very tight and she had to look towards the field of mismatched tents, blinking rapidly. Hugs like that were a thing of the past for her.

The air was getting cooler by the day, and as the breeze picked up, Chloe adjusted the blue and grey plaid scarf tucked into her jacket. It had belonged to Max and she'd found that when she pulled the scarf up to her nose, she could still detect a whiff of Max's scent on the fabric.

Finally releasing Max, Ryan jerked a thumb towards the car. "The trunk's loaded up with donations from the office. Lots of winter wear and toiletries just like you asked."

"Thanks, Dad, that's great."

Vanessa meanwhile, had a handful of papers clutched in one hand. "I brought some things for you to look at."

Max stiffened. "What things?"

"Application requirements. For college." Max opened her mouth to protest but her mom beat her to it. "Maxine, hear me out. Applications are time-sensitive. You won't be able to get all your materials together if you don't at least look at the applications early. I took a look at some of the colleges you said you'd been interested in and printed everything out. I know you're busy but you can at least take a few minutes to go over these with me."

Chloe kept her eyes on Max in case she needed to intervene. She liked Ryan and Vanessa Caulfield–they'd always treated her like part of the family when she was a kid and they'd been really cool over the past weeks–but if Max needed an escape route, Chloe would make a scene without a second thought. When Max caught her eye, Chloe raised her eyebrows. Her silent question was met with a shake of Max's head. Message received: No rescue needed.

Max sighed. "All right I'll take a look." And then, turning to Chloe, "I'll catch up with you later."

"Sure." She waved as Max walked off. "I'll just be here. Hauling boxes." What a way to spend a Saturday. The clouds that had been looming on and off all week had cleared so that when Chloe had crawled out of their shelter for a morning smoke, she'd found a blue sky stretching out over the football field, sunlight glinting off the dewdrops on every tent. Fucked up, but hella pretty.

Sighing, she turned to Ryan. "I'll show you where the donations go." He agreed and they started unpacking the boxes from the trunk. They made several trips, carrying boxes from the parking lot to the classroom in the main Blackwell building where clothing donations were sorted and doled out. A gym would have been helpful but since Blackwell only had a football team and a swim team and left basketball to Bay High, there wasn't one. And–naturally–Bay High had lost its roof, otherwise they'd all have been camped out in cots in that gym instead of in tents.

They set down the last of the boxes and the ladies who were manning the table thanked them, though Chloe noticed the way they watched her... As if she might steal the donations. She knew them by sight at least. They were the 4-H moms, the ones always organizing bake sales for the school or raffles for the kids' sports funds. And she knew she was the sort of person they told their kids to stay away from.

Ryan, smiling like a jolly lumberjack, offered to help unpack and sort everything. Chloe would've liked to have gone out in search of more coffee–she felt like the walking dead after a night spent dreaming of hospitals and car crashes–but she didn't think ditching Max's dad would look good on the official girlfriend report card.

"So," Ryan began as he started pulling out ski caps, scarves, and jackets and placing them in neat piles, "have you decided what you're going to do when things have settled down around here?"

Sirens immediately blared in Chloe's head. This sounded like it was going to be the sort of talk dads had with the boys–or girls, because Max was hella gay–who were dating their daughters. She rubbed the back of her neck for a few seconds. Most of her plans revolved around things she'd like to do with or _to_ Max... and she really needed to not think about that while Max's dad was standing a few feet away."Umm... not really. I mean, I guess I'll go back and finish senior year."

Ryan nodded. "That sounds like a good place to start. I think Vanessa's been a little worried that Max is going to go the starving artist route." He chuckled, but Chloe suspected that he was a little worried about it too.

She pulled a hideous chartreuse jacket out of a box (she could see why someone had donated that piece of shit) and set it in a pile with the respectable jackets. "Naw. Maxaroni is too much of a keener to give up school. Even after all this drama." Some striped gloves and two woolen scarves made their way into the appropriate piles. "And I know she needs to get serious about her photography. She's amazeballs with a camera." Max had a future. And Chloe wanted to be a part of that future. "I'm not going to fuck that up for her."

David would have freaked. But Ryan only set down the navy woolen scarf he'd just pulled out of one of the boxes and turned to her. "Chloe Price, I have known you since you were yea high." He held his hand up at waist level. "That's not what I was thinking. At all. Joyce has been telling us about the work you've been doing with the volunteer groups. Helping to clean things up and get people back into their homes."

Chloe shrugged and tugged at the fingers of a pair of zebra striped gloves. "I couldn't just sit on my ass in the tent all day while Super Max was working on her photo project." But it was more than that.

Really, it was all because of Max. 'Everyone pretends to care until they don't.' She'd said that to the person in the world most determined to prove her wrong. Max cared about her, about the town, about other people. And much to Chloe's amazement, it was enough to make even her start to give a fuck again. Staring death in the face a couple of times hadn't hurt either. It was as if all the colour that had drained out of her life after her dad had died, and then vanished completely along with Rachel, had started to creep back in at the edges. Things _mattered_ again. Her choices mattered. Her life mattered.

Chloe turned and leaned against the table, back to the piles of winter ware, arms crossed. "This is going to sound corny as shit but... I want to be a better person for Max." She winced. That did sound corny, and just as mushy as the oatmeal they served in the cafeteria each morning. But she needed to have Max's folks backing them up on this. "Max is like... the most amazing person I know. She's smart and talented and she deserves someone amazing." Chloe shook her head. "And instead she goes and chooses me. And I don't want her life to be any more fucked up than it already is. So I'm gonna get my shit together." Chloe knew she could never really explain how grateful she was to Max, how unworthy she felt in the face of what she'd done, the choice Max had made just to save her sorry ass. After everything they'd been through, she wasn't about to let Max down. "I've got her back. For reals."

Embarrassed by the gush of mush–more than enough to ruin her reputation as the Bay badass–she turned back to the donations box and pulled out a pair of navy mittens emblazoned with the logo of the Seattle Thunderbirds.

"Is she doing okay?" Ryan asked. And he asked it like a real question, like maybe she would know the answer.

"Yeah. It's been good for her to be here, taking her photos." _Except for the whole weird visions thing and weird time travel shit, and the fact that she's fucking terrified of causing another storm. Aside from that's she's cool._

He nodded thoughtfully and moved on to another box. "We're expecting you for Thanksgiving, you know. I have orders to drive down here and haul you both to Seattle if you don't show up."

"Thanksgiving? Shit. I think we both forgot it was coming up." Glancing around the room full of boxes and donated clothes, she couldn't imagine what the holidays would be like. For her and Max, for everyone in town... It was hella depressing.

"Your family's welcome to come up for the weekend too."

"Oh. Thanks." That meant David was invited. It was great that he'd helped with busting Jefferson and all, but that didn't mean he wasn't a prick 99% of the time–okay maybe 95%, but still... Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners the past several years had been pretty shitty all around.

But as she folded a knitted scarf that was longer than she was tall, she found herself thinking again about Susan and Michelle, of how differently things had gone for them, Susan's mom trying to set her up with boys, and Michelle's who couldn't even acknowledge that her daughter was dating a girl. Ryan and Vanessa were making an effort to make Chloe feel welcome, and as weird and awkward as that was sometimes, she was so fucking glad they were. "I'll talk to Joyce about it later. Thanks," she mumbled, staring at the coiling scarf.

But she couldn't think about holidays when Nathan's body was still missing. Max hadn't been following the news. She didn't know how badly the Acadia Bay's own Donut Patrol was fucking up the case. "Have the Seattle papers been covering the whole Jefferson thing?"

Ryan grimaced. "Oh yeah. Jefferson is a big enough name in the art world that it got minor coverage in the national press. But Seattle's been covering it extensively. It's where he first made a name for himself." He paused, stroking his lumberjack beard, and it dawned on Chloe for the first time really that Max had gotten her hair colour from her dad... just like Chloe had. "Max used to idolize Mark Jefferson. When I think that he could've done to Max what he did to her friend..."

Chloe stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, balling her fists. Of course Ryan Caulfield didn't know–couldn't know–that Jefferson _had_ done the same thing to Max. Drugged her, bound her, and photographed her, all in the name of some sicko ideal of art. Beauty and innocense or some bullshit like that. He'd just liked being in charge if people, of having power over them. It wasn't their innocence he'd been capturing on film; it was their helplessness.

But that was over now. She would make sure of that. One way or another.

Ryan sighed and shook his head. "It just makes me sick."

"Makes me want to kill him," Chloe grumbled.

"That too. But I don't think Vanessa would appreciate it if I landed myself in state prison." He shook his head. "Of course Jefferson is claiming that the Prescott boy was responsible for the whole thing and his family is helping to cover it up."

Chloe nearly spat. It was just too much bullshit. "Nathan didn't skip town. Jefferson got him. The cops just need to get off their asses and figure out what he did with him."

#

Ryan Caulfield's comment about Jefferson and the Prescotts was still fresh in Chloe's mind later that morning when she spotted Officer Berry patrolling the Blackwell grounds like a glorified mall cop. Max was showing her parents some of her recent photos and Chloe had opted out since she suspected they really wanted some family time together while they decided whether or not they were going to freak out about Max living in a tent with her girlfriend in the middle of a destroyed town. Hopefully Max would continue to make the whole plan seem sensible. Ish.

When Chloe hailed him, Officer Berry didn't look happy to see her. Shock. "What can I do for you, Chloe?" he asked, his expression guarded. She could see a long line of puckered skin, just beneath his receding, hairline where a row of stitches had recently been removed.

"Have you guys found Nathan Prescott's body yet?"

Heaving a sigh, his air went from guarded to exasperated. "We can't comment on ongoing cases."

Arms crossed, head tilted to one side, she stared him down. "I'm not asking for the goddam police report. Yes or no–that's it."

He drew himself up–he had a couple of inches on her–and gave her that look, the mix of disapproval and condescension that she was used to from anyone wearing a badge. "What makes you so sure he's dead anyway?"

And since, 'Jefferson told Max in an alternate reality that never happened,' probably wouldn't fly, she shrugged instead. "You heard the message he left on Max's phone. He didn't fake that–he's not that good at pretending to be a human being."

"We're following all possible leads."

Chloe snorted. "That's police code for 'we don't have a fucking clue', right?" He probably had the Prescotts breathing down his neck but apparently that wasn't enough to get him and the rest of the doughnut guzzlers to actually to do anything about it.

Annoyance flashed across his features but then turned to pity–which was worse. "Look, I know you and Rachel Amber were friends, but you have to let us do our jobs."

"Like you were doing your jobs when she was murdered? You didn't even find her body! I was posting missing person flyers for six months and the whole time she was rotting in that fucking junkyard." Her voice was fraught with emotion. She hated how weak she sounded–shrill and hysterical like a little girl. She turned her back and rubbed at her eyes. "Shit," she muttered.

"Chloe–"

"Never mind," she cut in without turning around. She started off back towards the tent field. "Like any of you give a fuck."

#

When Max returned to their tent, hands full of college applications–because yes, she needed one more thing to worry about right now since the fate of the whole town wasn't enough–she detected the rather distinctive scent of pot. So when she pulled back the tent flap she was expecting a very chill Chloe. Instead, when she crawled in, she found Chloe staring at the roof of the tent with very puffy eyes and a large pile of wadded up tissues next to her. A barely touched joint smouldered in an ashtray nearby.

"Chloe?"

"Hey Max. Have fun with the parental units? Have they got you signed up for Harvard, Stanford, and Yale yet?"

Was that it then? Had she been worried her parents were going to cart her off to college and leave Chloe in Arcadia Bay? Because that was not going to happen. Not ever. "No. And you know I'm not going anywhere without you, right?"

"Bonded for life," she said, but she was still staring up at the arc of the tent above her.

Max crawled closer and sat down next to Chloe. As she reached out to brush a few stands of blue hair off her forehead, Chloe's eyes darted to her face and then away again. "What's wrong then?"

"Nothing."

"Chloe–"

"You won't like the answer, all right?"

Wracking her brain, Max tried to think of something she'd done that might have upset Chloe. Sometimes she still felt like she had to walk on eggshells around her or risk setting her off. They had been though so much in the past weeks, but that didn't stop Chloe from being pissed off at life, the universe, and everything. "My dad didn't say anything to you, did he?"

Chloe shook her head. "No, he was cool."

"Did I do something?"

"No!" She heaved a sigh. "Shitballs." She looked up at Max. "I keep thinking about Rachel. See? I knew you wouldn't like it."

"I didn't say anything."

"You made a face."

Max's fingers were still brushing through Chloe's hair and she wondered if Rachel's had ever done the same. Chloe was right: she probably had made a face. "I'm sorry. It's just... hard."

"That's why I didn't want to say anything, but you had to go and be nosy." She rolled her eyes. "You're still Max Caulfield."

"Sometimes I feel like... I need to compete with her."

Chloe edged over so that she could put her head in Max's lap and stare up into her eyes. "You picked me over the whole town. You win gold in the best friend Olympics. For life."

"Wowser." Max smiled; she couldn't help it. Chloe was always acting so tough, but she knew, more than anyone Max had ever met, how to say just the right thing sometimes. "Well as the official gold medalist I really want to know what's wrong."

Chloe's brow scrunched up into an impressive frown. "I'm pissed at her."

"At Rachel? What for?"

"For getting herself killed. For banging Frank. For–for whatever she did with Jefferson. Everything!"

"But I thought you–"

She shifted then, turning away from Max. "You can love someone and be mad at them, Max. They don't cancel each other out."

And Max didn't have an answer to that. Most of her teen years had been spent trying to figure out how to talk to people without morphing into the prototypical awkward geek. She'd had friends, but they'd only been that–friends. At Blackwell, Kate had become her closest friend and she did care tremendously for her. But while she wished Kate had been able to open up to her more and hadn't felt the need to step onto that roof, she certainly wasn't _mad_ at her for it.

"Do you think..." Chloe's voice cracked. "Do you think she was going to ditch me?"

"Chloe..."

"She wrote Frank that letter about driving away, and–"

"Chloe, stop." Max reached down and pressed her hand to Chloe's cheek, gently turning her face back towards her. "You were besties. She loved you." And then, lips quirking into a mischievous smile, "Just not like I do."

And that did get a huff of laughter from Chloe. "No one loves me like you do, Max." She reached up and grabbed Max's wrist, giving it a tug. "Get down here."

"My parents are doing the rounds right now, but they want to take use out to dinner before they head home."

"Real food. Awesome. But that leaves lots of time for me to have my way with you first." She tugged on Max's arm again and, smiling, Max lay down next to Chloe and kissed her.


	6. Six: Put a Ring on it

**Six: Put a Ring on it**

The dinner with Max's family had been fun. They'd started off by sharing a big ass plate of nachos, and laughed as they'd tried to detach the chips from the gooey mess, dangling long strings of cheese. But Chloe had spent much of the meal with a pang in her chest. It had reminded her of family meals when her dad had still been around.

Now, back in their tent, it was a relief really to have something else to focus on. After sifting through all the dirt in the metal box, they had found a small collection of objects besides the unreadable papers and water-crinkled photos. There was the memento box, still locked; Susan's hospital bracelet; a Blackwell school ring–class of '90; a coaster from a sleazy-looking bar; and a pamphlet advertising a New Year's Eve bash for December 31, 1994.

Chloe had set out the assorted collection on a blanket between them. For a minute they sat and just stared at the items, but nothing was going to happen by just looking at them. And Chloe found she did want know what had happened, why they were getting these glimpses at the lives of two girls a decade in the past. Picking up the ring, she inspected the Blackwell insignia and then dropped it into the palm of her hand and held it out to Max. "Shoulda put a ring on it."

"Wrong decade, Beonce." But then Max placed her hand over Chloe's palm. The instant Max's skin touched the ring, the tent vanished.

#

When Max opened her eyes, she found herself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling in a room flooded by sunlight. She lay flat on her back, a pillow tucked under her head, a sheet draped over her. And considering the way the sheet tickled her skin, she was fairly certain that she was completely and utterly naked.

A rustling sound to the left drew her attention. She turned her head only to see a bare-shouldered Chloe lying under the same sheet next to her. With a wicked grin, Chloe peeked under the sheet. "Oh-la-la. What have you been up to, Max?"

Max yelped and pulled the sheet down over herself, blushing at the eyeful of Chloe skin she'd just gotten.

Chloe was grinning from ear to ear. "I hate to tell you this, Maxaroni, but it looks like you've misplaced all your clothes."

"Me? What about you?"

She peeked under the covers again. "They're gone too. Amazeballs. What a coincidence."

Max could feel herself flushing. By now she was used to cuddling close to Chloe at night, and seeing her in her skivvies when she got changed. But it hadn't prepared her for how much more intimate this was, lying inches apart, not even fabric separating their bodies.

Chloe rolled over onto her side, propping her head up on her elbow, the length of her body pressing into Max's side. Max gasped. She could feel Chloe's every dip and curve, feel the heat of her skin seeping into her. Her touch was electrifying and terrifying all at once, sending shivers up and down Max's spine.

Leaning in close, Chloe's lips brushed the line of Max's jaw. "I told you," she said, her voice low, barely more than a breathy whisper.

"Huh?" It was hard to focus on Chloe's words with her lips brushing her neck and the heat of her skin so close.

Chloe's lips tickled her earlobe and she could feel her hot breath on her cheek. "I told you they were having hot monkey sex."

Max burst into a fit of giggles. Chloe grinned down at her. "Okay, you win," Max said through her laughter.

"Do I get a prize?"

As her giggles subsided, Max looked up into Chloe's smiling face and let her gaze rest in Chloe's blue eyes. She felt calmer somehow. Okay she was totally naked in bed with her girlfriend and it was all sudden and totally overwhelming. But it was also Chloe. Her Chloe.

"You are blushing so hard, hippie," Chloe murmured as she leaned in, her lips tickling Max's ear.

Max drew back a bit so she could peer at her with a raised eyebrow. "Chloe, are you trying to take advantage of the situation?"

"I'm improvising." Her lips travelled down Max's neck and Max let her fingers tangle in Chloe's hair. "You holding out for a white wedding?"

"Illegal in Oregon," Max murmured, letting her eyes slide closed.

"Elope."

A fist pounded on the bedroom door and they broke apart like startled cats. "Oh shit," Chloe said, laughing even as she sprang up out of bed. "Get some clothes on. We are so busted."

The pounding continued. "Susan?" A man's voice. "Susan, you open this door right now goddammit."

Max sat up and peered around for clothes, still clutching the sheet to herself, unlike Chloe who was not one bit shy. Max did her best to avert her eyes.

It looked like Michelle was a planner, because there was a neatly folded outfit waiting on the corner of a nearby desk, including underthings and accessories. And while the acid wash jeans and glittery top were even less her style than Rachel's outfits, Max preferred cosplaying to rude and nude.

The door shuddered under the continued banging. "Have you got that girl in there with you?"

"Which one?" Chloe called back. "It's so hard to keep track of them all."

Fumbling over the hooks of her bra, Max cast an anxious glance towards the door. A dresser had been pushed up against it, much to her relief. It made it a little easier to get herself dressed, knowing that an angry man wasn't about to burst into the room. Her fingers began going through the motions of pulling on her things and finally she noticed the ring on her finger, the Blackwell Academy ring that she and Chloe had found in the box.

While the man–Susan's father, she supposed– was yelling, Chloe caught Max's eye and pointed to a pile of duffle bags packed to bursting. "Looks like they did some serious packing."

"Leaving town packing?"

"Away from the Bay. Sounds good to me."

Max felt a pang of regret. It was because of her that Chloe had come back here to Arcadia Bay and to all this drama. Maybe Chloe had been right and they should've just stayed in Seattle. Her parents had certainly hoped Max would return to her old school, settle back into her old life. But they didn't know what her decisions had cost Arcadia Bay, or how much she wanted to find away to do something– _anything–_ that might make things even a tiny bit better.

"That date with Stewart probably didn't go too well," Chloe said, as she tugged on a pair faded and ripped black jeans. "Guess they couldn't _straighten_ her out. Get it? She's gay?" Max rolled her eyes and pulled on her sparkly T-shirt.

Chloe, now donning a mix of leather and denim, joined Max on her side of the room and slung an arm around her shoulders. "Decision time, Maximus. Door number one..." She pointed at the shuddering door from which streamed a series of threats and curses. "Or..." And there she turned to indicate the bedroom window, "A conveniently placed escape route to freedom."

Glancing at the door, Max grimaced and turned to look up into Chloe's grinning face. Funny, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Of course she did take special pleasure out of pissing people off. "Definitely the window."

Chloe opened the window and they clambered out without looking back.

#

Max blinked and she was back in the protective embrace of their lime green canvas home. Her hand was still reaching out, palm pressed against Chloe's. She wrapped her fingers around Chloe's and clutched that outstretched hand.

Chloe squeezed her fingers in return. "Booyah! Another daring escape by the Blackwell ninjas."

Max squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of the shuddering bedroom door and Susan's father yelling from the other side. "Chloe, that was awful."

"Awful? I guess I need to work on my seduction technique."

"Not that part," Max said smiling even as a blush crept up her cheeks again. "But Susan's dad..."

"Asswipe makes David look like fucking Santa Claus."

Releasing Chloe's hand, she took the class ring and inspected it. "It was Michelle's."

"So she was a Blackwell brat too."

Max's fist tightened around the ring. She had not planned to purchase one, even before the Blackwell shitstorm last month. The school ring might be marginally less tacky than average (silver with the engraved school crest and no jewel) but it was still not the sort of bling she was looking for. She was quite happy with her colourful plastic bracelets thank-you-very-much. But Michelle had had one, she had worn it. All the time. Her time at Blackwell must have meant a lot to her.

A metallic rattle drew Max's attention and when she glanced up, she saw Chloe shaking the memento box. "Dude, I want to know what it's here."

It was chilly in the tent thanks to the cool November nights, and Chloe was bundled up in her winter jacket and scarf. Max's fingers felt like icicles and she rubbed them together to warm them up. It was hard to believe that just a few minutes ago they'd been cuddled up together in their birthday suits.

Raising the box to eye level, Chloe peered at the tiny lock and tried to stick one of her nails into it. No go. She turned it around in her hands, scowling at it. Max couldn't resist–she grabbed her dad's camera from its case and snapped a photo of Chloe puzzling over the box.

"Don't you get bored of all these pics of me, hippie?"

"Never," Max said, smiling and sliding over to sit by Chloe. She showed her the picture and Chloe shrugged.

"It's just me."

"Exactly." Max leaned her head on Chloe's shoulder. Setting down the box, Chloe leaned her cheek against Max's head and curled one arm around her waist.

"Should we try for another of these trippy vision things? Or are you all time-travelled out?"

Max sighed. "I think I've had enough excitement for one day."

Chloe's arm tightened around Max's waist. "And here I was hoping we could pick up where we left off." Max snuck her hand under Chloe's jacket and then her shirt and pressed her chilled fingers against Chloe's ribs. "Fuck! Or not. Maybe not." She snatched Max's fingers and then, with a grin, "We can just _chill_ instead."

Max rolled her eyes. "You are so obvious."

"With all this weird shit going on, I'm thinking obvious is just what you need."

And Max had to agree with that. Hella agree.


	7. Seven: Landmarks

**Seven: Landmarks**

"What was that?" Victoria's voice was tinny through the phone's speakers. It effectively amplified her ability to grate on Max's nerves. "It sounds like you're calling from the moon."

"Sorry," Max mumbled. "I had to put you on speaker."

Living in a tent came with a long list of inconveniences. The lack of washrooms, privacy, heat, and wifi were all up there. But it also made organization difficult. The floor of the tent was strewn with socks, bras, shirt, cigarette packs, and camera equipment. As far as Max could tell, her headset had tumbled into a black hole. And since she needed her hands to check the photos they were discussing on her laptop, Victoria was going to have deal with the poor sound quality.

Unfortunately, so was Chloe.

Crouched over a duffle back, she'd been rummaging in there for the past several minutes, periodically pausing to glare at Max's phone.

Victoria heaved a sigh that gave full voice to her sense of martyrdom. "What about the next shot? The one of City Hall."

Max pulled up the shot on her laptop. It was an old red brick building with its roof missing as well as its front door. The wrought iron railings that had once lined the front steps now curled around the pillared door frame. Tangled among the bent iron bars, a tattered American flag fluttered in the breeze.

"What about it?"

"I think we should crop the image so the flag is centred."

Max nodded–and then realized Victoria couldn't see her. "That sounds good."

Victoria heaved an exasperated sigh. "We still need to agree on a name and Juliet hasn't answered my message."

"I think she's still busy trying to do some of the background research we wanted to use for the historical sites."

Victoria huffed. "The Two Whales Diner hardly qualifies as a historical site."

"It was a town landmark. People from outside of Arcadia Bay knew it. Just like the lighthouse." Max had asked Alyssa to get the 'after' shots of both locations. Max couldn't bear to do it herself. So many bad memories. And knowing she'd been responsible for wiping those landmarks off the map... It was more than she could deal with right now.

"The lighthouse shots are passable but the lighting wasn't ideal. We should try again on a sunnier day."

Chloe looked over. "We?"

Max shot Chloe a look. Fortunately, Victoria didn't seem to have heard because she kept right on going. "I haven't heard anyone suggest anything even remotely useable so we should move ahead with my suggestion, Save Our Bay."

Chloe snorted. "Hashtag sob."

"Who is that?"

Max sighed. "Sorry, that was Chloe."

"I thought this was a private conversation to review our project. Not a group discussion."

"Dude, we're living in a fucking tent. It's not like I can step into the next room."

"Use a headset," Victoria snapped.

"I couldn't find it," Max said.

"Because we're living a _tent_ ," Chloe added.

The phone crackled for a moment. "I refuse to–"

"Never mind," Chloe said, crawling towards the tent flap. "I'll just step out onto the veranda for a smoke so you can be alone with Queen Victoria." She rolled her eyes.

"Chloe–"

"Just let me know when you're done with her highness."

The speaker issued something that could have been static but might also have been an irate huff. But Max had had enough of Victoria's attitude. She was pretty sure she'd hit her BS limit for the morning. "You know, Chloe's entire house was demolished and so was the place her mom works. She's one of the people this project is supposed to help. You remember that part? About helping people?"

"Just because she's in need doesn't mean she should interrupt. I guess your lack of taste extends to your friends."

"At least my friends haven't killed anyone."

Dead silence. Max wasn't sure if she would have rewound if that were an option.

"I didn't know about that. Nathan never said anything. He just..." Victoria's voice faltered and Max felt a twinge of remorse.

"I know. I..." She wanted to say she was sorry, but somehow she just couldn't regret breaking through Victoria's bitchy shell. Sometimes Max needed to see that Victoria was just as vulnerable as all the rest of them. "I know." The idea of going back to the photos was unpalatable. "We should pick this up later once Juliet gets back to you."

Victoria agreed and was all too eager to hang up. Sighing, Max stuck her head outside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust from the lime-coloured gloom to the grey November morning. But no, there was no Chloe in sight anywhere. Max darted back into the tent and checked her phone.

 _Buying smokes. Back soon._

With a sigh, Max set down her phone. Hopefully a little air–or nicotine–would settle Chloe down and she wouldn't be completely pissed off when she got back. Max would've liked to do some triage of her latest shots, but the laptop battery wasn't going to last that long so she'd have to wait till they hit up Warren again. They were only a few hours away from the coffee capital of the world and yet there was no Starbucks within easy driving distance of Arcadia Bay. The closest thing was the Bay Café which was an option... but also meant dropping cash on coffee and snacks.

Instead, Max found her thoughts wandering back to Susan and Michelle. She still didn't understand how it all connected. Two girls who'd fallen in love and left Arcadia Bay together in spite of their families' disapproval. How did those visions connect with the disturbing photo she'd had found? Jefferson, Max knew, had spent time in Seattle after he'd graduated from the Chicago Art Institute.

 _I had enough of those faux-punk sluts in my Seattle days._

Max shuddered. Jefferson's voice was still so clear in her thoughts sometimes. Hugging her knees, she waited for her stomach to stop churning. That conversation had never happened. Chloe was alive and Jefferson was in jail. Everything was okay... Except for the fucking time tornado and all the wreckage and the people who'd died. But that storm was as much Jefferson's legacy as her own. Without him, none of this pain would exist. Rachel Amber would be alive and Nathan Prescott would be a jackass, but a mostly harmless one. And Chloe... well Chloe wouldn't love her. But she'd be alive, she'd be okay. Everyone would be okay. And maybe missing out on love would be a steep enough price to pay in order to save everybody.

Except that that wasn't an option. There was no rewind that could've stopped Jefferson soon enough to prevent all the damage he'd done.

Max gave herself a shake. It was stupid to keep thinking about this. There was nothing she could do, superpowers or no. Instead, she reached for the metal box they'd dug up. Grabbing the stack of water damaged photos she peered at them each in turn until she found one where she could clearly see the girls' hands. The girl with the hairsprayed mane and the heavy blue eyeshadow, the girl in the black and white photo that had started this whole thing, she was the one wearing the ring. She was Michelle.

The black and white photo was as creepy as ever. It was too much like the photos of Kate, like the photos of Rachel. Michelle's glazed over eyes, stared blearily into the camera lens. Max knew precisely what it felt like to be photographed while in that state, what it was like to be so thoroughly in someone else's power.

And if Jefferson had anything to do with this she wouldn't stop until she found out what.

Max took a deep breath and let her fingers trail over the surface of the photo.

#

Max found herself once more on Arcadia Bay's main drag with its boarded up stores and buildings in disrepair. Turning to look over her shoulder, she could see the docks in the distance. No fishing boats were moored there. Something else caught here eye then. The cliff overlooking the bay where the lighthouse stood, the lighthouse she'd seen destroyed. But the lighthouse was still there, still whole.

She stared at it, her mouth dry, her palms slick. If the lighthouse was whole that meant that in this place, whatever it was, the storm hadn't come to Arcadia Bay. But that also meant...

Max swallowed down a rush of dread that sent her heart clawing up her throat. Instead she began to run. She ran up the empty street, past for sale signs and vacant store front until she saw the familiar whale rising against the sky.

Panting, she came to a halt in front of the Two Whales. A flickering sign proclaimed that the diner was 'OPE' but she could see no one through the dirty windows.

The lighthouse and the Two Whales, the very landmarks she'd been discussing with Victoria were both here as if there had been no storm at all. Max turned her attention to the newspaper stand in front of the store. With shaking hands, she extracted a paper and read the headline: "Jefferson Acquitted."

Bile rose in Max's throat but she forced herself to read.

 _After only a few hours' deliberation by a jury in Salem, Oregon, photographer Mark Jefferson has been acquitted of all charges in the Prescott bunker case. The jury determined that Nathan Prescott, son of the Arcadia Bay developer tycoon, Sean Prescott, was solely responsible for the deaths of local teens, Rachel Amber (18) and Chloe Price (19)._

Max choked back a sob. No storm; no Chloe. The thought that Chloe's house was still standing, but that Chloe was gone... She could just imagine her bedroom, empty, still, everything just as Chloe had left it, its postered and graffitied walls, magazines scattered on the floor, her laptop still open on her desk. How could all those objects outlive Chloe? Just the thought of that empty room was enough to make Max tear up.

She scrubbed at her eyes and tried to get herself together. She didn't want to be here in this fucking alternate reality or possible future or whatever BS this was. She didn't want any part of a world that had let Chloe die.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to scan the rest of the article. It summed up the case–Rachel Amber accidentally overdosed, her body hidden, Chloe Price accidentally shot to death in the girls' bathroom, the photos, the bunker. But aside from Nathan's allegations, the evidence of Jefferson's involvement was only circumstantial. There were some messages exchanged between the two, but no smoking gun in the communications. Or anywhere else for that matter. He had been acquitted and would hold a press conference in Arcadia Bay. There was speculation that he planned to take legal action in relation to the false charges.

"False charges." Max wadded the paper up into a ball and threw it to the ground. "Motherfucker."

If anyone deserved to die it was him. Why couldn't it be him? Not Chloe. Not her Chloe.

Max wanted to yell, but a raspy whisper was all she managed. "Fuck you, Arcadia Bay."

And then the world was a shimmery shade of lime green and someone was calling her name.

#

"Earth to Max. Come in, Captain Max. Do you read? Get your ass back here."

Max blinked up at Chloe for a moment and then pushed herself off the floor and threw her arms around her. "Oh thank Dog. You're all right."

Chloe hugged her back, squeezing tightly. "Me? What about you? I leave you alone for like five minutes and when I get back you're passed out on the floor with that creepy ass photo in your hands."

"I had another vision." Max buried her face in Chloe's shoulder, clutching her as hard as she could, as close as she could. "The storm never hit but you were..."

"Hey it's okay. I'm right here. Alive and well." She tilted her head so that her lips brushed against Max's jaw, sending a shiver down Max's spine. "Thanks to you."

As Chloe stroked her hair, Max squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to just stay this way, wrapped up in Chloe' arms, awash in her scent of leather and cigarettes, in her warmth. She wanted to be close enough to feel Chloe's heartbeat so she would know that she was really and truly alive and not just a ghost or a dream. But that vision... "Jefferson was free." She barely managed to choke it out. "They didn't have enough evidence to convict him."

Chloe huffed. "So much for my noble sacrifice."

"I would never have let that happen." But she could feel the tension in Chloe's body. Chloe shifted even as Max held on to her. Max drew back to look into her face. "Chloe? What is it?"

Looking away, Chloe rubbed the back of her neck. "You uh... haven't been following the news, right?"

"The news?" Max repeated, confused. "What news?"

"The Doughnut Brigade haven't found Nathan's body. And without it, they're going to have trouble proving Jefferson did anything and that it wasn't all a setup by the Prescotts."

The shock of that announcement robbed her of the power of speech. It was impossible. It was just completely fucking impossible. For a minute she just stared at Chloe, slack-jawed, until a few syllables managed to stagger from her mouth. "B–but... How? He..." She shook her head, tried again. "They caught him right in the bunker."

Chloe rolled here eyes. "Yup that's why they pay the Arcadia Bay PD the big bucks. There's no case they can't fuck up." Hands shoved into her pockets, Chloe glowered at the floor. "Jefferson is saying that Nathan is alive and well and that the Prescott family helped him disappear. If they don't figure out where he stashed that dipshit's corpse, Nathan's going to take the blame for everything."

"No. No, he can't..." Max kept shaking her head. After everything they'd done, everything they'd gone through–it couldn't just be for nothing. "Jefferson killed him. He told me so himself."

"I don't think alternate reality testimony counts in court." She held Max by the shoulders, her blue eyes fierce. "Can you think of anything else he said? Like a clue?"

Thinking about the dark room was something Max tried to avoid. Sometimes she woke with the feeling of duct tape on her wrists or the prick of a syringe in her neck. But those disjointed snatches of conversation stayed with her always, Jefferson's ravings about his work. "No. He just said Nathan was dead and buried and that they'd never find him."

"Fuck. Fuck Jefferson. We should've shot him that night at the Vortex party."

"No, Chloe. He was expecting us. I already saw him kill you once." Max pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to blot out the memory–the gunshot, the spurt of blood, and Chloe, wide-eyed, falling... dead before she hit the ground.

"Hey." Chloe's grabbed her wrists pulled them gently down. She took Max's face in her hands and looked into her teary eyes. "We're okay. We're both here and we're hella okay. We just need to get our Sherlock and Watson on and figure this out."

Max forced herself to take several long, slow breaths while she let her eyes drink in the sight of that beautiful scowling face she loved so much. "I feel like we have all these puzzle pieces but they all belong to different puzzles."

Chloe removed her perpetual beanie and tugged it onto Max's head. "Hey!" Max protested as the fabric came down over her eyes. Chloe tugged it up a bit and grinned at her.

"That is your official Sherlock hat."

Max raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Do I look hardcore now?"

"You look adorable."

They both started when Chloe's phone buzzed. She glanced at it. "I said I'd help out over on Oak Street today. But if you need me to stay..."

Max shook her head. "It's all right. I'll go help Joyce." Doing something normal like peeling or chopping might help get her mind off things. "But tonight we should try to find out more about Susan and Michelle. Maybe it'll help make the puzzle pieces fit together."

Chloe held her fist out and Max bumped it with her own. "Deal, Super Max."

The peeling and chopping did help, but all day the thought nagged at her that the missing puzzle piece was really Nathan Prescott's corpse.


	8. Eight: Puget Fugit

**Eight: Puget Fugit**

The coaster had the image of an hourglass, sand trickling from the top bulb into the bottom, and, written large in red block letters across the top, Puget Fugit. Chloe scowled at it. "I officially nominate Puget Fugit for worst bar name in Seattle."

Max, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the tent, winced. "It's punny. I thought you'd like it."

"Dude, bars are for beer, not puns."

A Smile flickered over Max's features, but she couldn't dislodge the unsettled feeling that had dogged her all day. When she thought about the news that Nathan's body was missing... Somehow, knowing his corpse was out there somewhere made it harder not to think of Rachel, of the smell when they'd found her, Chloe heaving and sobbing at the same time. Maybe Chloe had been right and returning to Arcadia Bay had been a mistake. Too many bad memories. Too many ghosts and monsters.

"Maximus?"

"Huh?" Chloe was looking at her expectantly. "Sorry, I guess I spaced out." Max felt Chloe's fingers come to rest on her knee. Her blue nail polish was chipped from all the work she'd been doing and she hadn't bothered to reapply it. But the merest touch of those slender fingers made Max shiver.

"You sure you're up for this?"

Max intertwined her fingers with Chloe's and looked up into those pale blue eyes. "I am if you are."

Chloe held the coaster out to her. Max reached for it.

#

Max drew in a breath of smoky air and immediately began to cough, drawing the attention of several men in leather jackets who were seated at the bar.

"Easy there." Chloe rose and leaned over the bar to grab Max's elbow. And then, under her breath, "You are too straight edge for your own good, Maxaroni."

Taking a slow, shallow breath, Max wiped her eyes. Her throat felt raw from the cigarette smoke that wafted like mist through the bar. The room was long and poorly lit, making the figures hunched over the low tables little more than leather-clad silhouettes. Glancing over her shoulder she could see rows of bottles–amber coloured rum and whiskey, clear bottles of gin and vodka, a few lonely wine bottles, piss-coloured tequila, and things with labels she'd have to squint at to read in the dim light.

Over the din of people talking, laughing, and cussing, some blues-y guitar strings twanged through the speakers, one of those songs Max had heard before but always sort of shuffled off as older music.

 _Soy un perdedor. I'm a loser baby so why don't you kill me?_

As Chloe sat back down, Max took a good look at her friend's latest retro ensemble. A bulky gray and red flannel shirt was heaped over a black T-shirt with an upside down frowny face, its eyes X-ed out. Her blue hair poked out from under a black snapback, the brim sloping down over neck. A silver skull grinned at her as it dangled from a black cord around Chloe's throat.

Max tried to imagine Susan's features in those clothes: the pink-streaked blond hair, the thorny vines of her tats poking out beneath the wide collar of her tee, the mossy coloured eyes, the dark lipstick. But it was hard to see anything but Chloe's beautiful blue eyes and hair, her full lips... and the eyebrow quirked as Chloe's gaze moved from Max's face to something south of that. Glancing down, Max realized she was wearing a tee with a dramatically low neckline. And though she suspected Michelle filled it out rather better than she did, it was still enough to put an impish grin on Chloe's lips.

Hurriedly glancing away, Max was glad that low lighting disguised the flush of her face. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her server's half apron, but found only change, a wad of bills, and a notepad and pen. When she looked up, Chloe was inspecting the glass of dark liquid on the counter in front of her. She raised it to her nose, sniffed, and then took a sip. "Apparently Susan's a rum and Coke kind of girl."

"So Michelle worked here," Max said, "but why are you here too?"

Chloe didn't answer. She was busy emptying the pockets of her jeans. A wallet was followed by a pocket knife, a dozen quarters, two tissues (used), a familiar set of car keys, and pepper spray. "I'm gonna take a guess that I'm your chauffeur."

"You think Susan was just waiting for Michelle to finish her shift?"

"I bet they can only afford one piece of shit car between them."

"Why not just give Michelle the car for the night? Or just pick her up at the door?"

Chloe fingered the pepper spray. "It's probably in a sketchy neighbourhood."

They both turned as a door behind the counter opened and a woman wearing a tee that was cut even lower than Max's stalked towards them. Her arms were crossed over her well-displayed cleavage as she glared from Chloe to Max. "You brought your 'roommate' again tonight?" She hooked her fingers into airquotes at the word "roommate".

Chloe held up her glass and jiggled it so the ice cubes clinked. "Hey legitimate customer here."

"Can't you do a single shift without needing a bodyguard? It's the '90s. Grow a pair, Michelle."

Leaping off the bar stool, Chloe stared down at the girl, towering a head higher than her. "What did you say?"

The girl's lips curled into a sneer. "I get it, you're the man, right?"

Chloe grimaced. "Dude, there's no man. That's the point of being a lesbian. Google it."

She looked confuse. "What?"

"Oh right. '90s. People don't speak interweb yet."

Shaking her head, Max sighed. Even here Chloe was still Chloe, ready to rumble with anyone who looked at her the wrong way. Diplomat was definitely off the checklist for Chloe's future career options. "Did you need something?" Max said in her best no-nonsense tone, a tone she'd only recently started using.

"Yeah. Billy just called it. He won't be able to make it in so you'll have close tonight."

Chloe crossed her plaid-draped arms. "Fuck that. Closing is what? Two or three a.m.? In this neighbourhood? No fucking way."

"Well _I_ can't do it. The last bus is in fifteen minutes and it's the only way I can get back home." She rattled off the reasons why two other employees couldn't close, but Max's attention was focussed on Chloe, the deep lines of her frown, the tension in her shoulders. None of this was real but she was just as angry as if it were. She wanted to come around the bar and just wrap her arms around Chloe's waist and press her face into those tense shoulders.

But they needed to figure this out, figure out how it all fit together. What really puzzled her was why this moment? If the coaster was from a bar where Michelle had worked, she must have spent many nights here. Why was this one important?

Chloe was shaking her head. "That's bullshit. What if she gets jumped at three in the morning when she leaves? Huh?"

"Jesus just take a self defence class or something."

They were starting to draw attention from the other patrons in the bar. Men in ratty jeans and concert T-shirts, cigarettes drooping from their mouths, glanced at them. There were a couple of wolf-whistles. A guy from a table on which rested several empty beer pitchers raised his glass. "Cat fight! Ten bucks says the punk takes her down."

Without even glancing their way, Chloe held up her middle finger.

Max wanted out. She desperately wanted out of this dingy place with its acrid smoke and drunken rude patrons. The idea of working here, dealing with bitchy coworkers and men as interested her cleavage as their drinks... But Michelle must have needed the money to endure this place. Or maybe she'd had thicker skin. From the pictures, she looked way more hardcore, more like Rachel than Max.

The bitchy waitress spun on Max. "If you don't want this job then fine, just leave. Mr. Morrison will hear all about this in the morning."

It wasn't real. It wasn't real... but it still felt real.

The soundtrack had shifted to something guitar-heavy with indistinct lyrics–which almost certainly meant Nirvana. _Hey! Wait! I got a..._ Mumble, mumble. _Forever in debt to..._ something, something.

Chloe turned to Max. "What do you want to do?"

What did she want to do? She wanted to run away from here. Maybe even from Arcadia Bay. She wanted to run from the nightmare that hounded her footsteps, her every action. She wanted to stop feeling like every decision she made could bring down the heavens.

But she couldn't say any of that. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to get it together.

"Fuck it," Chloe said, and put her fist on the bar. "Rock-paper-scissors."

"What?"

"I win, we go, you win, we stay. Ready?"

"Wait, wh–"

But Chloe was already thumping her fist on the bartop. One, two... Max's hand shot out. Three. Her index and middle finger scissored the air. Chloe's hand was still balled into a fist. She grinned at Max. "I rock," she announced, shaking her fist, just in case Max didn't get it. "Come on, let's go."

For a moment Max hesitated. But Chloe was right–fuck it. She came around the bar and took Chloe's hand. Ignoring bitchy waitress and the cat calls of drunken men, they headed to the exit.

#

Relief washed over Max as she drew in a deep breath of cool and stuffy tent air. Raindrops pattered the roof of their tent, a welcome change from the music and raucous laughter of a few moments before. No more drunken men, staring at her cleavage, or angry waitresses threatening her job. She was alone with Chloe. Her Chloe.

"That was a shithole." Chloe tossed the coaster back into the box with the other mementos. "I've been to some dive bars but nothing that nasty."

"I think I'll stick to books from Powell's." Max hugged her knees. Thank God she and Chloe hadn't had to run off like that; they'd probably have ended up as waitresses or store clerks to make ends meet, maybe even needing to hold down two jobs. It was hard to call living in a tent lucky, but it was temporary and her family would help them out. Unlike Michelle's and Susan's. "I guess Michelle was older since she was working at a bar."

"Yeah we're seeing stuff from different years I guess."

"You didn't have to throw down with that waitresses you know. It wasn't really real."

Chloe huffed, hands balled. "It pissed me off. Besides, I always said I was going to be your bodyguard, didn't I?"

A giddy happiness gushed through Max's veins and spread through her chest, putting a dopey grin on her face. "You remember that!"

"Of course I remember. It was the first time you told me you wanted to be a photographer."

 _I need a bodyguard for our adventures... Maybe take pictures of our adventures. I would love to be a photographer..._

The day she'd reunited with Chloe, she'd wandered into the Price backward to indulge in a few minutes of nostalgia. Sitting on the swings, she'd thought about that conversation.

"Haven't been dong my job right," Chloe said, rubbing the back of her neck, "since you're the one who keeps saving _my_ ass."

"Well," Max said, mischievous, "I do have a vested interest in it."

Chloe grinned. And then she jerked her head up towards the tent's ceiling. "Enemy sniper! Get down!" Before Max could utter a word, Chloe pushed her down onto the floor of the tent, lying almost on top of her.

Their faces inches apart, Max raised an eyebrow and peered up at Chloe. "Snipers, huh?"

"Definitely a sniper." Her eyes were locked on Max's, but one of her hands was sneaking under Max's jacket and under the hem of her shirt. She shivered as Chloe's fingers tickled over her stomach, over her ribs.

"What are you doing?"

Her grin was cheekier than ever as she replied. "Checking you for bullet wounds. All part of the bodyguarding gig. Has to be a very thorough examination of course."

"It's supposed to be guarding, not groping."

"Isn't that one of the perks?"

As Chloe shifted her weight, Max could feel something jabbing into her back. "Ow! Chloe, could you get off?"

She did. Immediately. "Whoa, if you weren't a groping mood you just had to say so."

"It's not that," Max said rolling over and shoving her hand into the tangle of blankets and sleeping bags. Her fingers closed around something made of stiff plastic and she tugged it out of the bedding. "I found my headset."

Sighing, Chloe scanned the circular interior of their lime-green home, littered with backpacks, bedding, clothes, and electronics. "Guess we're going to have to clean up this place if I'm ever going to have a shot at getting some action."

"Chloe?"

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you tell me about Nathan?"

She rubbed the back of her neck the way she always did when she was feeling a bit awkward. It wasn't something she'd done when they were kids, but a habit she'd developed in the intervening years. "I figured you had a enough shit to deal with already."

Reaching across the tent, Max touched Chloe's knee. When she looked up, Max offered a tiny smile. "Thanks for looking out for me."

"It's all part of the service, ma'am," she said with a mock salute.

"Dork."

The thought of Nathan's corpse, buried somewhere, still gnawed at her, though. Hopefully he wouldn't appear as a ghostly animal (perhaps a translucent weasel?) leading her to his grave. She'd had enough of visions and mysteries even before returning to Arcadia Bay. Maybe it really had been a mistake. But Nathan... If the police didn't find him that meant Jefferson might go free. And that couldn't happen. It absolutely couldn't. Which meant...

"Chloe... We need to find Nathan's body."


	9. Nine: Vandal

**Nine: Vandal**

The Bay Café's interior was a mix of fake wood panelling, chrome, and pleather seats. The scents of coffee and doughnuts filled the air. _It sure as fuck isn't the Two Whales,_ Chloe thought as she raised a paper cup to her lips and sipped her lukewarm coffee. It was like a wannabe Starbucks in the only town in Oregon without one. But what it did have... was WiFi.

A bar and stools were set up against the side window wall, which currently gave diners a view of the ocean. The view used to be of the motel across the street, but the storm had cleared that up. Hella depressing view, but at least they couldn't see the ruins of the lighthouse. Chloe fucking hated seeing it, which she did at least once a day out of the corner of her eye no matter how hard she tried not to look. She still felt a twinge each time; more than the rubble, more than the tents and the donations, it always made her remember the price Max had paid to save her life.

Raindrops beaded the window like tears and slipped down the pane in long streams. The patter of the afternoon downpour might have been soothing if it weren't mostly drowned out by the keening of One Direction's latest chart topper. Chloe cast Max an envious glance, her eyes lingering on the earbuds shielding her from the boyband ode. It was the third 1D song in as many hours. If she ever found out who assembled the café's playlist, she was going to tear them a new one. Chloe's earbuds had perished along with her laptop, CD player, and house, and she hadn't gotten around to buying a new pair.

The laptop (Max's) on the bar in front of Chloe displayed yet another article profiling Mark Jefferson and detailing his rise to fame in the 1990s. The fawning tone and obvious admiration of the author made Chloe want to puke up the glazed chocolate doughnut she'd noshed on half an hour ago. So, instead of doing the research she was actually supposed to be doing, she stole a glance at Max.

Chloe let her eyes linger on Max's profile, the freckles that speckled her cheeks, her pale blue eyes, currently scanning the tiny screen of her phone, her hella luscious lips. Without taking her eyes from the phone, Max popped a powdered doughnut hole into her mouth. If Chloe kissed her now, those lips would taste of icing sugar. Her gaze traced the line of Max's throat. She wanted to run her mouth along that bare skin, to feel Max's pulse leap beneath her lips like it had the other day when they'd woken up in Susan's bed. She wanted that bed to be theirs, those sheets. She wanted to lie close to her with nothing between them, nothing stopping them, just the heat of Max's skin against hers, and the chance to run her hands over ever inch of her body.

Noticing Chloe's gaze, Max paused and pulled out her earbuds. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just... thinking."

"About..."

Chloe flashed her best grin. "Things."

Max's brow crinkled up, her air suspicious. It was adorable. "What things?"

Leaning closer so that her shoulder pressed up against Max's, her arm brushing Max's arm, "Hella gay things."

The ring of the bell on the café door, made Max jump even as a blush was creeping up her cheeks. Glancing over her shoulder, Chloe got a look at the new customer, a tall thin guy in his twenties. He was an elementary school teacher. Not one of her teachers of course–he'd started later than that. Mister... Tanner, maybe? He scanned the room for a place to sit but when he noticed them, his brow creased a little. Chloe scowled at him. She was about to demand if he had a problem, but he hurried over to the counter and rang the bell for service.

"Asshole," Chloe muttered.

"Chloe?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Think I've had as much as I can take of Jeffersuck for one day." They needed to do research. Fine. Max could try to find info on Susan Baker and Michelle (still no last name). But there was no way she was going to let Max research Jefferson. Max had been a wreck during their time in Seattle. And not in a sobbing-on-the-floor kind of way either. It had more of a quiet brooding sort of wreck, the kind where someone kept it all in and let it eat at them until something finally snapped. Chloe had been scared as fuck. Scared that she wouldn't be able to get through to Max, that she'd lose her. But they'd gotten through it. They were okay. But Jefferson was still a trigger and she needed to keep Max away from that as much as she could.

"Do you want to switch? I could–"

"No."

"For cereal, Chloe, I–"

"Max." Reaching out, Chloe caught one of Max's hands in hers and held on to it. "Let me do this for you. Kay?"

Max's fingers squeezed hers. "Okay."

Waiting for his order, Mr. Tanner's gaze lingered on their joined hands. And he was frowning again. When Chloe glared at him, he looked away.

"Why don't we pack up for now?" Max suggested.

"All right. Just give me a sec. The coffee just hit my bladder."

A few minutes later, Max was waiting for her outside the washroom with her laptop and other gear, ready to head back to tent city. "Chloe?" Max began as they walked together towards the café door. "I.. Well there was a tab open when I was closing my laptop and..."

She pushed open the exit door, Max following right behind. "Shit. I should've closed all that stuff."

They paused under the awning as Chloe rifled through her pockets for the junker's keys. "No," Max said, "it's not that, it's..."

"Hm?"

"Chloe, did you vandalize Mark Jefferson's Wikipedia page?"

 _Shit!_ Chloe rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding Max's gaze. "I just said he was motherfucking asswipe who got off on taking pictures of doped up high school girls. It's the fucking truth."

Much to Chloe's surprise, Max flung her arms around Chloe's neck, almost knocking the breath out of her. "I love you." And then her lips crashed against Chloe's, hot and sudden and demanding, quickly leaving Chloe out of breath.

"Wow, Super Max, that was..."

"Super?" Max said, and bit her lip, reverting to shy hipster mode.

Chloe draped an arm around her shoulders as they braved the rain and headed back to the truck. She grinned. "If there's anything else you need vandalized, I'm your girl."

"I'll keep that in mind."

And in spite of the shitty weather, and the debris across the street, and the weird-ass visions, Chloe felt like the world was just about perfect.

#

When she got tired of staring at the inside of her eyelids, Max stared at the tent's ceiling instead. The glow from the floodlights, pouring through the canvas, cast everything in neon green, reminding Max of a laser tag place she'd been to when she was fourteen. It had been a birthday party for one of her new friends in Seattle. A twinge of guilt shot through her as often happened when she thought about Seattle and what a shitty friend she'd been to Chloe those five years. But that was then. Now...

Shifting under heaps of blankets, Max turned over onto her side to look at her friend. Her girlfriend. Her best friend. Her Chloe.

Not wanting to wake her, Max resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. Her right arm was folded under the pillow and Max's eyes traced the tangled vines of Chloe's tattoo, the green pigment seeming almost aglow in the greenish light. This all still came as a surprise to Max, the way she felt about Chloe, the way Chloe made her feel. How Chloe's hands, sliding down her back, sent shivers up and down her spine. How her kisses, shifting from slow and deliberate, to urgent and insistent, replaced the butterflies in Max's stomach with a knot of heat.

When she'd returned to Arcadia Bay, she'd put off contacting Chloe, uncertain of whether they would still be friends. She certainly hadn't thought, _Oh hey I'll reconnect with Chloe and maybe we'll hook up._ Never in a million years. It seemed as unlikely as... as suddenly developing superpowers.

And knowing that she could have missed it all, that Chloe could have died that day in girls' washroom, without Max even recognising her... Max's chest clenched, her breath catching in her throat. She still woke up sometimes with the sound of that gunshot ringing in her ears. Max squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip, but her mind was already playing the horror reel on her inner projector. Chloe's blood pooling on the dirty bathroom tiles. The ambulance coming–eventually. Declared dead at the scene. A crime scene. Cops taking photos while Chloe's body cooled. And then the body bag, a black plastic bag that they shoved her into and zipped up all nice and neat as they wheeled it though Blackwell Academy's halls and out to door. The county morgue. Chloe's corpse in the freezer. Autopsy. Joyce IDing the body.

Hot tears streamed down Max's cheeks. She bit her lip harder, forcing herself to keep quiet. She didn't want to wake Chloe; she didn't want to have to tell her why she was crying.

It was all Jefferson's fault. All of this. Without him, Nathan wouldn't have killed Rachel. And Chloe wouldn't have been in the washroom that day.

They had to find Nathan. Jefferson had to have stashed Nathan's body somewhere nearby; he certainly hadn't had time to go far out of town. And Jefferson liked to be clever, liked to think he was so much smarter than everyone. It made Max sick when she remembered the way he'd toyed with Kate. He'd suggested to her that maybe it was all an attempt to get attention. Meanwhile, he'd known exactly what had happened to Kate–he'd been responsible for it–and he'd done his best to push her.

Max could still hear his voice, lecturing her in the dark room. _That moment innocence evolves into corruption..._ Bullshit. He'd enjoyed controlling people, being the one who shaped their destiny, the artist who shaped the world. Sometimes Max wondered if she had been any different in how she'd used her powers, changing people's fates–and, in spite of her best intentions, not always for the better.

 _Fuck all that, Max. It's all bullshit._

The memory of Chloe's voice drowned out the echoes of Jefferson's. She had said that to Max in Seattle, during a particularly bad moment when Max had voiced her fears about being like Jefferson. Chloe had shut down that line of discussion immediately. Max had to keep reminding herself, though, that the real difference between her and Mark Jefferson was that he _enjoyed_ hurting people.

Slowly, still hoping to avoid waking Chloe, Max eased out of their nest of blankets. The rustling seemed thunderous to her ears, but Chloe didn't stir. _Operation sneak out of bed a success._

The chill air in the tent sent goose bumps prickling her skin. She pulled on her coat and grabbed her hoodie to drape over her knees for extra warmth. And them she booted up her laptop and began to read Chloe's notes on Jefferson. Somewhere in those notes was a clue and they had to find it.

Max read until her eyelids grew heavy and she had to keep catching herself from slumping forward onto her laptop screen. Visions of the dark room and of the storm danced behind her eyelids. But she didn't care. She would ferret out Jefferson's secret just as she had before. Fuck the nightmares. She'd do it anyway.

A half formed dream of the storm inhaling Arcadia Bay's main strip, shattered and Max woke with the sound of breaking glass in her ears. Giving up for now, she shut down the laptop, crawled back under the blankets, and fell into a fitful sleep. It wasn't until the next morning that she realized the breaking glass hadn't been part of her dream.


	10. Ten: Shatter

**Ten: Shatter**

Shaken out of a deep sleep, Max groaned. Her eyelids were leaden and she was certain it had to be nighttime still. She tuned onto her side, curling into a ball.

"Come on, lazy ass," Chloe said, giving Max another shake. "If you don't get up now we're not going to get our shower for the day."

Max squeezed her eyes shut. "What time is it?"

"Like ten a.m., dude."

"Really? Ugh." She felt like her head had only just hit the pillow, even though it had been at least six hours now. But it still looked dusky in the tent and it must have been another drizzly day.

"Come on, sleeping beauty." Chloe popped the lid on a travel mug and the scent of coffee wafted to Max's nostrils. "I bring offerings of caffeine."

Slowly, Max drew herself up into a sitting position and rubbed at her puffy eyes. Her head seemed to be filled with cotton balls, but the coffee smell was comforting. She gratefully took the proffered travel mug, wrapping her fingers around it until the heat seeped into her skin. "Thanks."

"Part of the faithful companion job. Transportation, refreshments, sexual favours–all part of the service."

Max snorted into her coffee. "I hope I'm your only client."

"Well I was thinking of expanding my client list but if you're not into that I could probably be talked into signing an exclusive contract." And then, before Max could answer that, Chloe held her by the shoulders and leaned down to peer into her face. "Damn, Max, you do look like shit today."

"Thanks, girlfriend."

She leaned in and pressed her lips to the top of Max's head. "Didn't say I wouldn't jump you anyway."

Raindrops clung to the sleeves of Chloe's jacket like beads of glass. She pulled the beanie off her head and flung it onto the top of a clothes heap. Sipping her coffee, Max watched Chloe's fingers raking through her blue hair and found herself wanting to do the same. Chloe caught her eye. "Put some clothes on. I even promise not to peek. Much."

With a sigh and a great gulp of coffee, Max began scouting around the tent for clean clothes.

"Hey, are you indecent yet?" Chloe said. Glancing over her shoulder, she found Chloe sitting cross-legged on the other side of the tent, sifting through her small pile of belongings, her back to Max.

"Getting there."

She'd switched out her under things and was trying to wiggle into a pair of jeans–tricky when you were on the floor of a tent that wasn't high enough for standing–when Chloe spoke again. "Max, did... did your parents mention Thanksgiving?"

Max stopped mid-wiggle and groaned. "I keep forgetting about Thanksgiving. My parents said they would invite you and your family."

"That means David will be there. Last year I was _this_ close to stabbing him with the carving knife."

"We'll make sure you're sitting apart," Max said, tugging her jeans the rest of the way on. "I'll be sitting next to you. It'll be fine."

"Let's ditch."

Fingers poised on her zipper, Max froze. "What?"

"It's not going to be fine, Max. I mean what can they even talk about? It's just going to be bullshit about the storm or about how we're all broke and homeless, or about how they met after my dad fucking died. There's nothing they can talk about that won't be a complete shitstorm."

"It won't be like that. Dad'll talk about work or about the Thunderbirds. And mom will talk about the family recipe for yam casserole and how crazy the Seattle traffic is getting. And my grandmother will come up from Portland too."

"Does she know you're going to be there with your gay girlfriend?"

Oh. Right. Officially gay now. "I'm pretty sure mom will mention that to her ahead of time."

"Is she going to give us the stink eye over our plates of turkey and yam?"

Shaking her head–and then realizing Chloe (probably) wasn't looking her way, Max zipped up her jeans, and said, "No, she's not like that. It'll be cool. I promise." A huffy sort of sound followed that probably translated as 'not convinced'. "Seriously, Chloe, she used to drive a motor cycle and she walked the Pacific Crest Trail solo. She'll be cool. I bet she'll love your hair and ask you about your tattoo."

"But David... I swear, Max, if he gives me shit about–about _anything_ I'm going to freak."

Still only half-dressed, Max paused, the cool air in the tent raising gooseflesh on the bare skin of her arms. She was clutching a black shirt with the popular slogan of 'Now Panic and Freak Out' scrawled in white letters across the front. It summed up her general feelings over the past week pretty accurately. "It'll be okay. I'll be with you the whole time. For reals."

Max started as Chloe's arms wrapped themselves around her middle, her face buried in Max's neck. Her coat was unzipped and Chloe's heat seeped in her back. She was always so warm, Max's own personal space heater. They belonged together; Max felt it in every fibre of her being. Everything might go wrong in the world, but the two of them–together–would always be right.

Chloe kept a tight hold on Max as if she were the only thing keeping her afloat. Leaning her head against Chloe's, Max reached up and stroked her hair. The tension began to seep out of Chloe like a retreating tide. Max could feel it, feel her body relaxing against her spine. For a minute they were both still, the patter of raindrops and the faint rustle of Max's fingers in Chloe's hair, the only sounds. In the stillness, Max thought she felt the beat of Chloe's heart.

After another few moments, Chloe took a deep, slow breath and then another, the swell of her chest pressing against Max's back. She must have been calmer, because her head shifted, chin poking into Max's shoulder as she glanced down. "Cute bra."

Max flushed. It was pink with lace details around the cups. She shoved Chloe back and tugged her T-shirt over he head. "You've seen all of my underwear by now."

"Yeah, but I haven't see you _wearing_ it." Fishing her scarf and gloves out of the pile of clothes in the corner, Max did her best to ignore her. "We need to get to you more sexy underwear. You have way too many tighty-whiteys."

"I don't think I can pull off the tropical sunset panties look," Max said, remembering the bright orange pair Chloe had been wearing the night they'd snuck into the Blackwell pool. Finally dressed, she grabbed Chloe's arm. "Didn't you say we had to hurry?"

"Oh yeah. Warren texted me." She got out her phone and indeed there was a message from Warren. And a reply, and... Max groaned.

 _Warren: Going to be out after eleven. Tried calling Max. She there?_

 _Chloe: out like a light_

 _Chloe: guess I wore her out last night_

 _Warren: What were you doing?_

 _Chloe: that's classified_

Shoving the phone back into her jacket pocket, Chloe grinned. "It's what they all think we're doing, Maxaroni." She grabbed a cap from her clothing heap and pulled it onto her head, turning the brim backwards. "Eventually it'll be true–you can't resist my charms forever."

Max's lips twitched in spite of herself. How Chloe could be such a goof and still be completely hot and badass at the same time was a mystery to her. "Whatever you say, Romeo."

Chloe unzipped the tent and together they headed out into the rain. Max tugged her hood on against the rain, shivering in the cool air. But her coffee was still warm and she sipped it contentedly as they wove their way through the green and brown and orange tents dotting the football field like mushrooms. There were noticeable gaps now that some people had gotten FEMA trailers and were finally able to pack up the tents. Chloe's mood had buoyed and she seemed relaxed and even happy in spite of the wet weather, taking Max's hand in hers as they walked. That lasted until they reached her truck.

The driver's side window had been smashed. "Shit!" Chloe snarled, her expression fierce and terrifying as she scanned the parking lot for the culprits.

All at once, Max remembered her dreams of the storm–the sound of glass shattering in the early hours. "I think it happened overnight. I heard something, but I thought I'd just dreamed it."

She set down the coffee and took a closer look at the truck. Jagged shards remained at the edge of window frame, and greenish slivers of glass littered the front seat and the floor of the cab. They were not going to make it to Warren's today.

Chloe kicked the truck's front tire. "Fuck them. Fuck all of them."

"Who?" Max reached out, clasping Chloe's arm. "Chloe, we don't even know what happened."

Chloe rounded on Max and the fury so obvious in her features made Max step back a pace. "Isn't it obvious? Some redneck asshole decided he was going teach the gay girls a lesson. I'm surprised he did spray paint 'Arcadia Gay' on the windshield."

The gay girls. Was that how people thought of them? Instead of people now they were _gays_? Like it was a special sub-category of people, a lower tier of personhood? "You don't know that."

"What, you think they spotted my slick ride and thought there was something to steal?" Chloe's face went slack. Then her brow crinkled and she spun around and pulled open the junker's door. Bits of glass trickled onto the pavement. Max warned her to be careful, but Chloe seemed oblivious as she jammed her hand under the front seat. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

"What's wrong?" Max asked, alarmed by Chloe's frantic search.

Chloe bent down to peer under the seat and reached under, but again came up empty. When she turned back towards Max, the pallor of her face alarmed Max more than ever. She scanned the area, following with a weary gaze a couple crossing the far end of the parking lot, and then leaned in close. "The gun," she said in a low tone. "It was under the front seat. It's gone."

Although coffee was the only thing in her gut, Max felt like she might throw up. That stupid, _stupid_ gun. It hadn't once helped them. Always it had been trouble. And now Dog only knew who had it. "You have to tell the police."

Chloe's eyes just about rolled into the back of her head. "Yes, Max, I'm going to tell Arcadia Bay's doughnut patrol that someone stole my stolen gun. Who do you think's going to get arrested in that scenario?"

"At least tell David."

This time, Max found herself on the receiving end of Chloe's furious glare. "You want me to tell fucking mall cop?"

Max grabbed Chloe's arms, pleading. "Chloe, please... Someone out there has a fucking gun. Who else knew you had it?"

She shook her head. "No one. Just you. And Frank I guess–but he's still in the hospital."

"Who else?"

Chloe shook off Max's grip and crossed her arms. "No one, okay? It's not like I sent out a PSA."

"We have to tell David. He can at least keep an eye out for it. Surveillance is his thing, right?" Arms crossed, spine rigid, Chloe's whole body was leaning away, making it clear–even without the scowl–what she thought of that idea. "Please, Chloe. I can't just rewind and fix everything. If someone gets hurt because of that gun, because we didn't say anything..." Max hugged herself, trying to hold it together–trying to hold herself together. If she let go, she was afraid she might shatter into brittle slivers like the window. "I've let so many people get hurt already."

Chloe took one step closer and then pulled Max into her, propping her chin atop Max's head. "I hate this town." She sounded so defeated and Max felt a pang of guilt–for making Chloe come here, for using her own pain to win an argument, for the people who'd been hurt, who'd died, because of the decisions she'd made.

"I just wanted to make things better," Max whispered.

"I know." She squeezed Max tighter, the rain pattering around them, making everything damp and slick, without actually washing anything away. Max felt the air leave Chloe's lungs as she heaved a heavy sigh. "Mom is going to kill me."

It seemed like all their mistakes were catching up to them one after another. Arcadia Bay was full of ghosts and monsters Chloe had said. Sometimes Max wondered which of the two they were.


	11. Eleven: In My End Is My Beginning

**Eleven: In My End Is My Beginning**

It took two hours to get the truck cleaned up–locating a portable vacuum for the glass and duct tape and plastic wrap for the window. After that Chloe knew she couldn't put it off any longer–she had to track down David. At least if she wanted to avoid Max freaking. After the near-meltdown Max had had in Seattle, the whole withdrawing into her photography until she was almost walking into traffic, Chloe was doing her best to be careful with Max. Even if careful wasn't her thing. Not by a longshot.

Chloe's could practically _feel_ her blood pressure rising the second they caught up to David. Even with Blackwell shut down for repairs, he still had his job, prowling around and making sure no one trashed the place any worse. This afternoon he was on the side lot of the main building, keeping a hawk-like guard on the obviously dangerous technician from the power company who was on the top of a ladder, working on the transformer closest to the school. Even the way he was standing there bugged the fuck out of her, with his arms crossed and trying to look intimidating in that weak-ass security uniform.

David sighed as she spotted them coming his way. "Can this wait? I'm working, Chloe."

"This is serious," Max was saying. She was standing right next to her, but her words sounded distant over the pounding blood in her temples. "We need to–"

"I stole your gun." Chloe blurted it out and stared him down, arms crossed, defiant. "Last month, before the storm."

David stared at her, but his stunned expression quickly morphed into a bulldog snarl. "Goddammit! I knew it was you." Standing next to her, Max grabbed Chloe's arm, squeezing tight. David's hands were clenched and she half expected him to slap her again, to prove he really was the nasty sack of shit she'd always believed he was, before he'd saved Max, before he'd arrested Jefferson. _I dare you, asshole! Do it!_ "I don't know where you think you get off pulling shit like this but–"

Max stepped between them. "Please, David, let Chloe finish. This is important."

Something between a growl and a sigh tore out of his throat. "Why did you do it? A firearm isn't a goddam toy."

She stepped forward, up in his face. "Because Nathan Prescott pulled a gun on on me. Because he doped me up and tried to pull the same shit on me he did with Rachel."

He looked like he might throw up all over his own boots. "Oh God. Why didn't you tell us? You could've been killed."

She was going to say 'Well I wasn't', but when she glanced over, she found Max looking pale, like she'd seen a ghost... like she was seeing one right now. So Chloe went, instead, with "Well I'm still here, aren't I?" And then, before he could start up again, "Look that's not the point."

"Oh there's a point to this? Besides proving how irresspon–"

"Someone broke into my truck and stole it."

David huffed into his mustache. "Why would anyone steal that deathtrap?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "No not the truck. The gun, they stole the fucking gun."

The colour that had drained from his face moments ago returned and she wondered if his head might explode in a gloriously gory mess. Her lips might have twitched at the thought. "This isn't a joke, missy," he snarled at her. "Who knew you had that gun?"

She held out her hands, palms up. "Just Max." She turned to Max. "Max, did break into my truck and steal the gun?"

"No! Of course not," Max said, looking horrified.

"Guess we're out of suspects then." She spun on David. "Maybe you can use your black ops surveillance shit to track down some _actual_ suspects."

A metallic clinking drew their attention and all three of them looked to the ladder where the power technician was making his way down from the electric pole. The technician gave nod in David's direction. "It's looking good. Power should be back by tomorrow."

The three of them stood in silence as he packed up his ladder and gear and returned to his van. David waited till he was gone before speaking again. "I'll see what I can out about your truck."

"Great," Chloe said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Max had gotten her way; _she_ should be happy anyway.

"Thank you, David," Max said and the gratitude in her voice grated on Chloe's nerves. She hated having to be grateful to David. And she did have to because he'd saved Max. But that didn't mean he wasn't a total dick.

He turned his scowl to Chloe and she faced him head on. "We're going to have a trailer soon. How are we supposed to have you under our roof if we can't trust you?"

She almost laughed. "Don't worry about that. I am _never_ going to live under your roof again."

He let out a long, exasperated breath. "Right now you don't even have a roof."

Pressed up against her shoulder, Max gripped her arm, her whole body tense. Whatever happened, she was staying with Max. Fuck FEMA's handout trailer. "I'd rather stay in the tent anyway."

"I don't know what you two girls have been up, but to if you think–"

"Oh there it is! Come on," Chloe said, throwing her arms wide, "just go ahead and say it. You don't like that your stepdaughter is a dy–"

"I _never_ said that. Don't you put words in my mouth."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You're all about the 'don't ask, don't tell' bullshit."

"Chloe," Max hissed, tugging at her.

Why wasn't Max backing her up on this? They were dating–she should be defending their honour or something. Where was the Max who'd confronted David about his video cameras and about harassing Kate Marsh? Instead she was stuck with the Max who needed to grow a pair.

"This isn't about who you're dating. It's about you taking responsibility for once in your life."

She could have laughed. She'd been ready to fucking die for this shithole town–because in that moment she'd truly believed it was what was meant to be, that she'd been meant to die and that her death would fix everything. She'd been willing to do it. What did he know about responsibility?

Chloe tugged herself free of Max and turned back towards the parking lot.

"Chloe–" But that was as far as she let her get.

"I need some space, Max."

Chloe stomped back to her truck. She didn't look back.

#

Chloe paced the cliff's edge like a caged tiger, phone pressed to her ear as it rang and rang. A bit of sunshine had started to poke through the clouds, bright on the remains of the lighthouse, but that wasn't enough to lighten her mood. Yesterday had been a good day. Today was total shit.

Finally, _finally_ , just before the voicemail kicked in, Joyce picked up. "Chloe–"

"Mom, I need you to find Max. Right now. She's probably in the tent." And possibly passed out on the floor with that creepy photo clutched in her hand. Chloe felt a twinge, remembering how she'd brushed her off. She'd just needed to get off on her own and think. But Max... Max was so stressed out over everything that had happened and all this new shit that was happening, and she wasn't a hundred percent sure Max could deal. So she was either, really upset and her phone was dead... or she was unconscious.

"Why? What's wrong?" Joyce sounded alarmed. Everyone was like this lately. After everything that had happened it was hard not to go automatically into panic mode at the least hint of trouble.

"I've been trying to call her. I think her phone's dead."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"Not exactly." Chloe groaned. "Look that's not important right now. Can you just... see if she's there?"

"All right, honey. Just hold on."

She kept pacing as she waited. The phone was hot against her ear, but the rest of her face felt chilled by the breeze. Reaching into her jacket, she pulled the scarf up to her nose and breathed in the scent of Max's skin. Below, the crash of ocean waves beat out an unflinching rhythm on the shore. Just a matter of weeks ago, there would have been a small fleet of fishing boats out on the water, desperately trying to find the schools of fish that had once come to feed in the bay. There were no more boats. And there was no longer a lighthouse to guide them.

Responsibility. What did David know about it? It was all just more bullshit. Look at Max. She was taking responsibility for things that weren't her fault. She hadn't caused the storm any more than she'd caused her powers. She'd even had a vision of the storm _before_ she'd found out she had powers so how could she have been the cause? But she'd made a decision and she carried the weight of it around like an anchor, one that kept her moored to Arcadia Bay. It was all just so fucked up.

Finally she heard her mom's voice on the phone. "Max, are you in there?" A pause was followed by a lot of shuffling, which Chloe imagined was from Joyce clambering into the tent. The sound was a bit muffled, but she was certain she heard her mom asking Max if she was all right. Fuck.

 _Please be okay. Please be awake. Shit, Max, you have to be okay._

"I'm fine. Is something wrong?" Relief swelled through her as the sound of Max's voice came through faintly over the line.

"There's someone who wants to talk to you." A pause and then Joyce's voice sounded even more distant. "I'll just wait outside."

"Hello?" Max said uncertainly.

"Dude, I've been trying to call you for twenty minutes."

" _Chloe_." The relief in her voice made Chloe wince. So did the sniffle she heard over the line.

"Twenty minutes," she repeated.

"What do you mean? I didn't hear the phone."

"We didn't get to Warren's, remember? Betting your phone's dead."

A pause. Shuffling. And then, "You're right." Max groaned. "I feel like such a dumbass. I was so worried."

"I just went for a drive. And then I tried to call you and it went to voicemail. I left like... three messages. And I texted. And then I started writing a letter."

Max laughed. "You did not."

"Okay not the last one. But I totally blew up your phone before I realized you weren't just ignoring me." She decided not to mention her own worry about the photo, about finding Max passed out again. _Maximus has enough to worry about without worrying about me worrying. Damn that was confusing_.

"I would never ignore you, Chloe." Chloe licked her lips, trying to think of the right followup to that. Nothing came. Finally, Max spoke again. "Where are you?"

"At the lighthouse. I can almost see the tent from here."

"Why the lighthouse?"

Good question. It did seem a bit masochistic when she could see the path of the storm front his vantage point. The time-twister had left a half-mile-wide tire track on the town, leaving behind demolished buildings and piles of debris. And then there was the lighthouse itself, only a broken shell now. But Chloe could relate. It was broken just the way she was, just the way the town was. And maybe just the way Max was.

"I dunno," she said finally. "I guess... because, in a way, this is where it all started for me. It's where you told me about the storm. And it's where that whole clusterfuck ended too." _And where we started._

"In my beginning is my end. In my end is my beginning."

"What is that?"

"It's from a poem," Max said. "And no, not a beat poet. My ninth grade English teacher used to write a random poetry quote every day on the board."

A sudden gust made Chloe press her palm against the top of her head to keep her cap in place. It whistled through the exposed lighthouse stairwell like the building was whispering to her. They had chosen this. But would the alternative really have been any better? Sometimes both outcomes were equally bad–like what Max had told Chloe about trying to save her dad: either way Chloe got a shit deal.

"I'm freezing my ass off up here," Chloe said finally. "I'm going to head back."

"Okay. I'll give Joyce her phone back."

"Max?"

"Hm?"

"I'm not going to just drive off and ditch you just because I'm pissed off about something. Seriously, you need to chillax."

"I know, it's just..."

"I'll always be with you, Max." It felt strange to say it again here without Max next to her.

"Chloe..."

She wanted so badly to be there, telling her that in person, not just to her cell phone. "Listen, I'm going to get back in the truck and be there in a few and make out with you until you can't remember your own name. And then we can go get coffee and charge your phone. How does that sound?"

A chuckle. "That sounds good. I told Kate I'd call her this afternoon. I'll need a working phone."

"Okay. Love you, Mad Max. Be there soon."


	12. Twelve: Get-Busy-Bluff

**Twelve: Get-Busy-Bluff**

"Hello, Max." Kate's voice, melodic and cheerful even filtered through the headset, put a smile on Max's face. At two in the afternoon, the Bay Café was quiet and she had picked a table against the far wall. While she'd have preferred making her call from the privacy of her tent, her laptop was still plugged into the outlet charging and she had to wait it out.

"It's so good to hear your voice, Kate. How are you doing?"

Kate laughed. "I'm fine. I should be asking you that. You're still stuck in that tent, aren't you?"

"Oh it's not so bad." Though Max felt herself blushing when she thought about the _reason_ it wasn't so bad. Every night, she slept next to Chloe, sometimes side by side, sometimes curled into each other, sometimes with Chloe's arm draped over her waist. She thought of that morning when she'd been half naked and Chloe had hugged her, burying her face in her shoulder, her breath hot against Max's bare skin. Nope, tent living was not bad at all.

A kernel of worry settled in her stomach as she heard Kate's sigh through the headset. "I wish there was more I could do. My family doesn't want me to go back to Arcadia Bay. They're worried it would be too much."

"You are helping, Kate. Raising money and getting donations is just as important as what's going on here."

"You're right, Max, you're right. It's just that..."

Max so wished she could be standing there in front of Kate, to hold her by the shoulders and look into her face. She wanted to tell her she was all right, that she didn't need to prove anything or do anything. "Right now you need to take care of yourself. You went through a lot and everyone just wants you to get better."

"I'm seeing a counsellor now. We've been talking about everything that happened. I just..." Biting her lip, Max waited. She didn't want to push Kate to say more. If only she could tell her that she understood, that she'd been tied in that same chair, drugged, photographed. She knew as no one else could know. "It's so hard to believe that it was Mr. Jefferson."

Fists clenched until her knuckles were white, Max had to remind herself to breathe. "Don't call him mister."

Kate's voice trembled as she spoke. "How could he do it, Max? And then come to class and act like it was nothing?"

"Because he's a monster." Everything that had gone wrong in Arcadia Bay had started with him. Him and his "art". Rachel would be alive. Chloe wouldn't have gotten shot. The storm, wouldn't have happened. Maybe she was a monster too for what she'd done, but at least she hadn't taken pleasure in it; she'd just wanted to save Chloe. Just thinking of his face, that voice that she'd once wanted to wrap herself in, made her stomach churn. "Do you remember his lectures? How he said he could catch any of us in a moment of desperation? It was all a game to him. We were all toys to him and he was laughing at us." Her voice broke. Max drew in a deep breath. She had to keep it together for Kate.

"What if... What if we're wrong though? The papers are saying that the Prescotts framed him to cover for Nathan."

"No. No way. Nathan didn't do all this on his own."

"Max... do you think Nathan is..."

"Dead," Max finished. "I really do, Kate."

For a long moment Kate was silent and Max was afraid she'd botched the whole thing. But then Kate spoke, though it was barely more than a whisper. "I just wish we knew for sure."

"We will, Kate. Somehow."

Kate took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "This isn't really what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm sorry. I've been working on the illustrations for that children's book–the one about bullying."

"That's great," Max said, smiling. The tension started to drain out of her limbs and she let out the breath she'd been holding. She was so glad Kate was all right. She would never know if Chloe was the only one who'd been saved by her choice. Would Nathan's arrest have been enough to prevent Kate from hurting herself? Would she have gotten the help she needed without having to step onto that roof first? "When things have settled down here we should do that tea tour in Portland we talked about too."

She glanced over her shoulder to the front window. Chloe was pacing around the building, a cigarette between her lips. Her trip with Kate would probably have to be separate from the trip to Portland she and Chloe had discussed since Chloe's plan had involved beer, weed, and possibly strip clubs.

"I'd like that." A soft chuckled wafted through the earphones. "I guess you won't be bringing Warren along. He's such a sweetie–I thought you'd make a good couple, but I guess it wasn't meant to be."

Shifting in the padded metal chair, Max licked her lips and tried to remember how she'd planned to deal with this if it came up. She'd actually read a few coming out FAQs online, but none of them had seemed really helpful, especially when there was still so much she was sorting out for herself. All she knew for certain was that she loved Chloe... in a really, _really_ not platonic way.

Taking a sip of her coffee and licking her lips, Max began with,"What did Warren say?"

"Just that you were seeing someone."

"Chloe," Max said, her heart in her throat. "Chloe Price. You don't know her."

"Oh. _Ohhhh_."

Max cleared her throat. "I should probably change my Facebook status, but with everything going on it didn't seem like a good time to make announcements."

"Did you... did you just meet?"

"No, not exactly. We were friends when I used to live in Acadia Bay and then we sort of ran into each other again when I moved back here." That sounded plausible. And it was basically accurate; it just left out the parts about Chloe getting shot and Max rewinding time. She'd been practising this conversation in her mind. It was hard to explain when what bound them so tightly together was an adventure she couldn't tell a single person about. Only Chloe understood.

Max cleared her throat again. "I–I wasn't sure if it would be weird for you–because of your family and everything." Max winced. She was making a mess of things–just like old times. Super Max still didn't replace awkward-hipster-Max. It was moments like these that she missed her rewind powers.

Kate hummed into the phone for a few seconds. "Max?"

Her palms were slick, her mouth dry. "Yeah?"

"You're right, some of my family would disapprove. But I've seen what real evil looks like, Max. And it doesn't look anything like two people who love each other. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you, Kate. That–" A lump in her throat, Max dabbed at her eyes and tried again. "That means a lot to me."

#

"We're going to miss dinner," Max said, leaning back into the lumpy truck seat and giving Chloe a sceptical look.

"Chillax, Max. It's all taken care of."

The junker's headlights cast a narrow yellow path on the gravel road ahead. On either side, pines and brush formed a wall of darkness. Bits of gravel clanked against the truck's side and every bump rattled through her bones. It had been a long time since Chloe had been up here and the last time had been in a vehicle with way better suspension.

After a few more minutes, she pulled off the road into a cleared patch, a few car lengths wide. She killed the engine. The headlights flicked off and then the only light was the smudge of orange hovering over the ocean on the distant horizon. Chloe's eyes flicked to the passenger side as Max leaned forward, hands pressed against the dash. "The view's almost as good as at the lighthouse," Max said.

Careful to avoid the plastic wrap in place of the glass, Chloe leaned an elbow against the window frame and propped her head on her knuckles. "Guess this is the first time anyone's taken you out to the bluff."

"The bluff?" Max's forehead creased. "I don't remember anyone talking about this place when we were kids."

"Don't tell me the eighth graders didn't know about Get-Busy-Bluff?"

"What?"

"Damn, Max, you moved before you got to any of the juicy stuff. The bay's best makeout spot. I hear the mayor once got busted up here getting it on with his assistant."

Max groaned and covered her face with her hands. "Now I'm just imagining you making out with all those guys during your bad boy phase."

She grinned. "Jealous? For all I know you were lip locked with some artsy photo student in the Space Needle while I was stuck in Bigfootsville."

"Except that I really, really wasn't."

Chloe reached under the front seat and produced a brown paper bag. "How about I distract you with food? Mom packed sandwiches." She tossed one to Max.

Catching it, Max set it down on her lap and looked at Chloe very seriously. "How mad was she?"

"On a scale of one to 'you're fucked for life'?" Joyce had reamed her for forty minutes straight. She'd toyed with the idea of avoiding Joyce, but really it had been such a shit day all around that she'd decided to just get it over with. Who knew–maybe tomorrow wouldn't suck ass quite so much. Stranger things had happened in Arcadia Bay.

Slender fingers brushed over her hand. She glanced down to watch Max intertwine their digits. Chloe smiled and squeezed those fingers tight. At least now someone always had her back. "I figured after everything today you could use a change of scenery."

"Thanks," Max said, a smile on her face as she turned to look to the horizon again. The sky was turning a dark blue like the bay water, the two seeming to slide together like her fingers with Max's.

"All right, dinner time." She gave Max's fingers a final squeeze before letting go and unwrapping her sandwich. Wonder Bread and bologna; it was like being in second grade again, but beggars can't be choosers, right? And that's what most of them were right now, asking for FEMA aid and donations. At least it wasn't SPAM again.

They munched on their sandwiches for a while as the dusk faded to night, growing darker until the sky had as many stars as Max had freckles. "It is pretty up here," Max said. "I wish I were better with nighttime photos but it takes a lot of adjusting to get the exposures right."

"Nerd alert."

She gave Chloe a playful shove. "Shut up."

Chloe grinned. "So what do you want to do while we're up here? Anything you want, Max." She waggled her eyebrows. "Anything at all."

Max bit her lip, her gaze distant as if she were staring right through the dash. Finally she reached down for her laptop case. She unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a weatherbeaten piece of paper. One that Chloe recognized. It was the flyer they'd found with Susan and Michelle's stuff.

Chloe groaned. "You brought that along?" Max nodded but didn't speak, her eyes locked on the sheet, the advertisement for a New Year's Eve bash at some Seattle club–the Neon Bliss, which sounded like the sort of place that played cheesy dance music and served drinks that looked like highlighter fluid. Slumping in her seat, Chloe realized she should have expected this because obviously nothing was going to go right on a day like this. Shit was written in the stars. "You know when I said I'd do anything you wanted, I was hoping you'd ask me to do something fun. Like blow you."

"I'm serious," Max said.

Chloe leaned in close to whisper into her ear, "So am I," and then give her earlobe a nip. Max yelped and then slapped a hand over her mouth. "See? This place is perfect. There's no one around to hear you if you turn out to be a screamer."

Max crossed her arms and managed to look embarrassed and offended at the same time. "I am not a screamer."

"Prove it. I dare–"

This time, Max slapped a hand over Chloe's mouth. "Down, horndoggie. If you're good we'll get you a treat later."

"I like treats," Chloe said once her lips were free. But then her gaze dropped to the water-stained pamphlet on Max's lap. "You really want to go through with this tonight?"

"If you don't want to help–"

"It's not that." She let her head slump against the steering wheel. "Shitballs. This whole day..."

Max's hand brushed her shoulder and Chloe's lips twitched. If only Max were easier to distract. They could just make out in the truck like a normal couple. She could sneak her fingers under Max's shirt and explore all that soft freckled skin. But _nooo_ , Max had to be all focussed and determined–Super Max even without the super powers.

Straightening up, she turned to glance at Max. "Look, Max... I know you went through hell to keep me alive. And I'll hella return the favour if I can. But... are you sure you're up to this tonight?"

For a moment, Max's attention was captured by a bit of lint on her coat sleeve. She plucked at it for a few seconds, lips thinned, brow creased. "I talked to Kate today about Jefferson. And I... I wanted to tell her that I understood. But I couldn't."

Reaching out, Chloe rubbed Max's back. "I know." She wished she had more to offer than that.

"I couldn't even tell her why I was so sure it was Jefferson. She was starting to doubt everything and..." Max squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clenched around the fabric of her jacket, and Chloe wondered if she was seeing the dark room again, seeing Mark Jefferson and his goddamn camera. Just the thought of it made Chloe's insides churn. If she'd still had that fucking gun... She could just imagine it, his mouth frozen in an o of surprise as she put a bullet through the centre of his head and watched him hit the ground.

"We need to make sure he stays in jail, Chloe. For good." Max sighed and shook her head. "I don't know how yet... but I feel like Michelle and Susan are leading us to him."

Chloe reached for the pamphlet. "Where you go, I go."

That grateful smile as Max looked up made Chloe want to kiss her. She didn't get the chance before Max's fingers touched the water-stained paper and the world began to waver around them.


	13. Thirteen: Spice Up My Life

**Thirteen: Spice Up My Life**

The transition from junker to club was not a smooth one for Max. The chilly dark of the truck's interior was swept away by the flash of strobe lights assaulting her eyes. Strangers gyrated on the dance floor around them, packed close, filling the room with heat and the faint odour of sweat and deodorant. The throbbing bass reverberated in Max's chest like a monstrous heartbeat. It was louder and more crowded than the Vortex party she and Chloe had infiltrated. Everything seemed to pulse with the bass and the strobe lights and for a few seconds Max couldn't tell up from down.

She grabbed at Chloe to steady herself and found she was clutching at a black crop top with a plunging neckline, peppered with gold sequins. It was impressively un-Chloe-like, though the spiked collar and studded chain were a bit closer to the mark. Worry flashed over her girlfriend's features and Chloe's arms settled around her waist. She said something that Max couldn't quite hear, but that she thought might have been "You okay?" She nodded. Chloe's eyes then dropped and her lips twitched. She leaned in next to Max's ear to be heard over the thrumming bass. "Very Spice Girls."

When Max glanced down she found she was wearing a very, _very_ short skirt emblazoned with the Union Jack. "Wowzer." It was just as well the strobe lights were shifting between pink and orange because her face was turning a similar colour.

"Spice up my life!" Chloe hollered into her ear, grinning.

If Max said she wasn't an expert on dance music it would be a truly epic understatement. But even she could tell the blaring bass and synth thrumming through the club, were retro. Even if her life had depended on it, she couldn't have identified just what made it sound... well... old. And kind of cheesy, especially as the female vocals of the chorus gave way to a rap verse. Definitely not the sort of thing that they'd be playing in clubs in 2013.

Chloe must have been thinking along similar lines because she grimaced up at the speakers nestled in among the lights.

Max leaned close. "Not the music they played at your raves?"

"No fucking way. This is serious Eurotrash." Chloe snagged her hand and headed off the dance floor. "Come on, Hippie Spice."

She dragged her to a corner off to one side of the bar. It was only marginally quieter, but at least here they weren't packed in with the New Year's Eve revellers. Max sighed, her shoulders slumping with relief. This place made the Vortex parties look like Bingo night at the seniors home. Her relief was short-lived. A burly man in a black shirt with the word "staff" printed across the chest was marching towards them. Chloe took a step in front of Max.

"Finally!" he boomed at he got close. He scratched at his scruffy blond beard and grinned. "Man I thought you'd gotten too shitfaced to show."

Chloe crossed her arms. "Totally sober, dude. What do you want?"

His smile faltered. "Hey I'm the one doing you a favour, remember? You said you needed cash and I hooked you up, right? He said he was looking for the punk look. That's totally you. And he's totally legit. Perfectamundo, babe." He gave Chloe the thumbs up. Chloe, meanwhile, looked like she'd bitten into a lemon. "Come on. Please? At least talk to him so I can get my finder's fee?" Neither she nor Chloe said a word. Which he took to be a 'yes' because he was smiling again. "Just like... Wait here two seconds."

Max leaned next to Chloe's ear. "What do you think?

"I think we're about to be pimped out to a Columbian drug lord."

Max winced. "Should we bail?"

In answer, Chloe held out a balled fist. Who needed to make decisions when you could rock-paper-scissors, your way through all of life's tough choices? "I win we go. You win we stay."

Max stuck out her hand and pumped it three times in the air. And kept her hand balled in a fist. So did Chloe. They tried again, and this time Max's index and middle fingers formed the V for scissors. Chloe's was open, palm down. Paper. "I win," Max said, casting a dubious glance in the direction of the bouncer. Her palms broke out into a cold sweat. It was true that this wasn't real, but, it felt real. And anything that happened while they were here was a real experience. And suddenly waiting seemed like a terrible idea. She was about to tell Chloe that maybe they should go anyway when she spotted the bouncer pushing through the crowd in front of the bar, with someone in tow behind him. It was only when they cleared the crowd that she could get a good look at the other man.

Flashing across his face, the strobe lights painted him in red and orange hues, like a demon crossing the floor, but she would known that face anywhere. It was the face that haunted her nightmares. Jefferson.

He was younger, dressed in a blue blazer and jeans with a waist that came up too high. His beard was fuller and his glasses larger, with a sort of tortoiseshell pattern on the plastic frames. But it was him. It was Jefferson back in his Seattle days.

He gave them a silky smile and Max's stomach twisted. She loathed that smile now. He was as slick as an oil spill. And she was one of those birds that was pulled out of it covered in noxious black goo. "Nice to meet you." He held out a hand for Chloe to shake. She remained frozen in place, her face contorted with fury. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his palms together. "I hear you're interested in modelling for me?"

This time she wasn't tied up. Max stepped close enough that spittle flew into his face as she spoke. "Eat shit and die," she snarled.

That was Chloe's cue to step in and knee him in the balls. A sharp squeak escaped him before he bent over in pain. "Motherfucking asshole," Chloe yelled, loud enough that even over the pulsing bass, people at the bar turned to look at them.

He raised his head enough to glower at them, like he was taking a mental photo of their faces, remembering them, imagining what he would do to them. Chloe grabbed him by the hair and smashed her knee into his face. "You fucking murderer."

Blood erupted from his nose and this time he crumpled onto the floor. The stunned bouncer grabbed Chloe's arm but not before she managed to land a kick to Jefferson's ribs. Max watched. She'd pulled Warren off of Nathan once, but right now, she didn't want to stop Chloe. Even if it made her a terrible human being, she was happy to see Jefferson take a beating. She only wished it was real.


	14. Fourteen: The Blackwell Ninjas

**Fourteen: The Blackwell Ninjas**

Though the AV and camera equipment had been locked up for safekeeping, Jefferson's classroom was much as it had always been. Photos were still pinned to the wall at the front and back of the class. Many of them were Jefferson's. Max had thought about tearing them down and ripping them up. But what would the point be when his photos were in magazines and art books? Destroying a few copies wouldn't accomplish anything. It was his reputation they had to tear down.

Max sighed and tried to focus on the laptop in front of her and the mockups Juliet had asked her to review. The broken shell of the lighthouse loomed in the centre of the screen, golden in the early morning sunlight. She clicked, and on the next page wooden wreckage floated on the frothy waves where before there had been a harbour and a dozen moored fishing boats. "The world is what an artist makes it," Jefferson had said. And this was the world she had made.

How could everything in this room be the same when everything outside was so different?

She sat in her usual seat at the back of the class. To her right, sunlight poured through the windows. It could have been a regular day back in October, when things had been normal. Before that batshit crazy week that had so altered her life. The classroom was just as they'd left it, and Mark Jefferson's words still echoed at the jagged edges of her thoughts.

 _I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and catch you in a moment of desperation._

He'd been toying with them. He'd probably gotten off on it, spilling his secret out without anyone realizing it. His confession had been there in his lectures all the time. Little clues, hints that none of them could recognise.

Had he dropped hints in the dark room too? About Nathan Prescott? About the body? Jefferson wouldn't have had much time to do the deed and dump the body and he would have had to dig the grave himself. It had to be somewhere in or around town, somewhere that wouldn't have taken too much time and effort. The police had canvassed the area and hadn't found anything. Of course they hadn't found Rachel so Max's confidence levels weren't exactly at an all time high. "Critical fail on your Perception Check. You notice nothing." That was the Bay PD in a nutshell.

The classroom door swung open, banging against the wall and putting an abrupt end to Gloom and Doom 101 as Max jumped out of her skin. "School's out forever," Chloe announced as she stood grinning in the doorway. "You miss the memo, Max Attack?"

"I needed to charge," Max said, gesturing to the laptop's power cord that snaked into the wall outlet.

Chloe strode down the classroom's centre aisle like it was a catwalk. Max envied the strut in her step, and her eyes lingered on the swing of her hips. She was decked out in a snap back today, brim backwards of course, and T-shirt that proclaimed that she was "Cute AF". Max's gaze followed her as she moved to join her and then perched on the edge of the table. Arms crossed, she peered at Max's laptop screen. Max watched as Chloe's blue eyes flicked around the screen, as her lips pursed as she considered the photo. Her blue hair was starting to get a bit shaggy and Max couldn't help herself; she reached up to brush a long strand away from Chloe's face, her fingers tracing the line of Chloe's jaw before falling away. She just wanted so badly to touch her–all the time–and to know she was really here, really hers.

Chloe's lips quirked and she shot Max a sideways glance before returning her attention to the screen. "So how _is_ the big project coming along? You ready to win your Pulitzer–or whatever it is they give photographers?"

Max groaned. "It's official. Warren finished the Kickstarter page this morning. It's even got the official approval from Habitat for Humanity so that they get the funding . Now we _have_ to finish this thing."

"You've been snapping shots for weeks. What's left to do?"

"Juliet is still finishing the page layouts but I want something for the last page. I just can't figure out what." Chloe opened her mouth, but Max jumped in with, "And don't say, 'a selfie'."

Chloe's mouth snapped shut and she huffed even as she reached for Max's laptop and began paging through the photo layouts. "For reals, Max, there should be a picture of you in here. It was your idea."

"And my storm," Max whispered.

Chloe stopped, fists balled, spine stiff. "Jefferson's the one who started this whole clusterfuck. He's been doping up girls for years. Fucker." She pushed off from the table and stalked up and down the rows of desks before finally ripping a poster off the board at the back of the class, the one that was a copy of the front page of a magazine featuring Jefferson's work.

Max took in a long breath. "Let's just... review for a sec, okay? We know Susan and Michelle had some sort of accident and ended up with a lot of medical bills. They needed cash and someone set them up to model for Jefferson."

Chloe crumped up the paper and tossed it on the floor. "And he doped them up and took his patented creepy-ass photos."

"But what does that have to do with what's happening now? I feel like we're missing something."

"There's this." Chloe rifled through her jacket pockets for several seconds before producing the memento box. She held it up and rattled it.

"I'd forgotten about it. We should try to get it open tonight."

"Better be right after dinner. I've got other plans for tonight."

Eyebrows raised, Max peered at Chloe. "Anything I should know about?"

Chloe grinned. "Up for some MaxGyvering tonight?"

"Chloe..." Max said, warningly.

"Hear me out. I've been Googling Susan Baker to try to get more info, but there are like dozens of them in Oregon. We need to track down Michelle's last name. Hopefully it's something really weird. Like... Clutterbuck."

Max could feel a tingle of anxiety prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. "Is this going to involve breaking and entering?"

"Just entering, I swear." Groaning, Max held her face in her hands. "We know Michelle went to Blackwell, right, and she graduated in 1990. We just need to take a peek at her student file."

"I don't think they keep records from that far back. Wouldn't it all have been in DOS back then anyway?"

"The computer files sure. But they had paper copies. We just need to take a look at the archives. And," Chloe continued, adjusting the angle of her cap and looking very pleased with herself, "I just happen to know where that is."

Max gave her a suspicious once-over. "And you know about this because you did a history project, right?"

"The files are all stored in this one room in the basement. Hardly anyone goes down there. I used to sneak down there to chill."

"Of course you did." She could just see it now, Chloe at the bottom of a rarely-used set of stairs, lighting up a joint and taking a long drag in the flickering fluorescent light.

"It's supposed to be locked up, but the bolt's old. You can just slide it open and ninja your way in."

"Why do we need to wait until tonight then?"

Chloe shrugged. "The door's right near the cafeteria." Max nodded. With all the volunteers and displaced residents around, the hallways around the cafeteria were rarely empty. Going during the day would be too risky. They'd have to do another nighttime raid.

"Blackwell ninjas, back in business," Chloe said, holding out her hand for a fistbump.

In spite of herself, Max smiled. She bumped her knuckles against Chloe's. "Back in business. And as she looked up at the wild glee on Chloe's features, Max found her own smile had turned to wide grin.


	15. Fifteen: Bullets

**Fifteen: Bullets**

"Shitballs. I know it's here somewhere," Chloe grumbled as she pawed under a pile of clothes.

The locked memento box rested in Max's hands. Max shook it. A metallic clink answered her. She was itching to know what was in it. A charm? A ring–maybe a Blackwell ring to match Michelle's? Or a lucky coin? Her whole life she'd been prone to opening cabinets and draws, peeking into corners and poking objects with wet paints signs on them–just to know. A locked box was to her like a candy store with a "closed" sign on the window to a little kid.

As Chloe continued to scavenge, Max checked her phone and sighed. "Maybe we should just wait till tomorrow."

The original plan was to be at the cafeteria for six p.m. dinner, when they first started serving dinner. That way they'd have lots of time to investigate the memento box before they needed to head out on their raid. Naturally Chloe was late. By the time they got there, the dinner line was long and the tables crowded and by the time they got back to the tent, it was starting to get late. Too late and David Madsen would start locking up for the night.

"No, it's cool, I found it."

Chloe straightened up and held up a screw driver triumphantly like it was Sailor Moon's sceptre wand. Max's lips twitched; she wasn't sure Chloe would appreciate the comparison.

But then Chloe's brow furrowed and she glared down at the screw driver. "Fuck."

"What?"

She looked pale, knuckles white as she gripped the screw driver's handle. "Oh shit. Max..." Her voice trembled and Max scooted to her side as she saw her expression. She looked gutted, just like she had when Max had told her about being held in the dark room. "I know how they found the gun."

Drawing close, Max rested a hand on Chloe's shoulder giving it firm squeeze. "How?"

"I fucked up. I was looking for this thing the other day in my truck." She waved the screw driver around. "And I... pulled the gun out instead by accident. Just for a second. I didn't think anyone saw it."

"But someone did." Max nodded to herself. That would explain one mystery. "Who though?"

She hung her head, looking as miserable as Max had ever seen her. "I dunno. There was a lady hanging around. I've seen her before at dinner. Keeps giving us the evil eye."

"If she lost everything in the storm maybe she wants to sell it off to make some money."

Chloe huffed. "Or maybe she's worried about the gay plague in Arcadia Bay and she's planning to pop us in our sleep." She shook her head. "Shot to death by step-douche's own gun. How lame would that be?"

Something in Max' chest clenched so hard she could barely breathe. Her mind flashed to Chloe's body on the bathroom tiles, blood staining her shirt, Chloe's body hitting the dirt in the junkyard, a bullet hole through her skull, her eyes open wide in shock. Wrapping her arms around Chloe, Max buried her face in Chloe's shoulder. "It doesn't matter _whose_ gun it is."

Chloe's arms wound around her, vice-like. "Hey Max, it's cool. We're fine." She pressed her lips to Max's head. "I didn't mean to–"

"I know." Max drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of smoke and leather that always clung to Chloe. "Let's just... open the box."

Max handed Chloe the box and she fiddled with it until she'd managed to jam the screw driver under the lock hinge. She twisted. The lock popped. Inside was something small. Metallic. Brassy. Max reached for it at the same time as Chloe's fingers plucked it up.

And the world wavered around them.

#

They were standing on a sidewalk under the sickly yellow glow of a guttering streetlight. Chloe's arm was wrapped around Max's shoulders. Max was still in a server's outfit, with a low-cut white tee and a half apron. Glancing down at her own outfit, Chloe realized it was familiar too: a bulky gray and red flannel shirt over a black frowny-face tee. It was the same getup she'd had on when they'd been to that dive bar Michelle worked at. Raking the street with her gaze, she spotted it across the street, the Puget Fugit sign, neon lights turned off for the night.

"Shit, it's after closing."

Max shuddered. "I don't like this. Did you see what was in the box? It looked like–"

Laughter and slurred cursing shattered the nighttime stillness. Chloe's head spun. There, stumbling out of a bar just up the street, a group of men, some in leather jackets and torn jeans, others in baggy sweats and hoodies. And then a car engine roared to life, tires squealing against the pavement as it tore down the street.

She froze, staring at the headlights, caught in their glare like a deer.

Bangs. Like fireworks. Louder. Closer.

"Chloe!" Max yanked at her, pulling her away, pulling her down to the sidewalk.

The car screeched away. Chloe drew in a ragged breath. "Max?"

Max was on the pavement next to her, her mouth twisted into a grimace. A red splotch was blossoming on her white tee like one of the flowers inked onto Chloe's arm.

"Shit! Max?" She grabbed her by the shoulders. "Max come on! Talk to me!"

A faint whimpering noise and then Max's eyes fluttered open. "Chloe," she murmured, her breathing quick and shallow. "It hurts."

" _Fuck_." Chloe could hear the tremor in her voice, could feel herself go cold, as if it were _her_ blood spilling out onto the pavement. Her hands trembled as she reached out to grip Max's face. "Max, look at me. It's not real. Okay? We'll be home in a few seconds." Max's eyes were squeezed shut but she gave a little nod. "Hang in there, okay? Just a few more seconds."

Tears rolled down Chloe's cheeks, leaving a trail of heat on her skin. Ice encased the rest of her body, raced through her veins. She couldn't feel the pavement under her side, couldn't feel her fingers as she pressed her hand against the red splotch on Max stomach. Max flinched, a cry leaping from her throat. Chloe pressed her lips to Max's forehead. "Just a little longer. Hang in there. Come on, Max, you can't leave me, okay? Hang in there. Just a bit longer."

As they lay there, foreheads pressed together, she kept repeating it over and over, chanting it. Max's skin was pale, greyish like sea foam during a storm. Her shirt was sticky and wet against Chloe's chest. Sirens blared, getting louder. Max shuddered against her. Chloe clutched her closer. "Don't you dare fucking quit on me, Max. This isn't real. You're fine." Max was so pale, her breathing so shallow. Chloe pressed harder against the wound and pressed her face against Max's head, sobbing into her hair. "Just... a bit... longer."

The sirens were closer, louder. "A bit longer."

Something with flashing emergency lights pulled up in the street, filling her sight with red. "Just a–"

#

The world went from flashing red, to lime green. Chloe blinked down at the bullet pinched between her fingers. And then she dropped it into the box, gaze snapping up to Max. Max's eyes were wide with shock as she looked from the box to Chloe. Her hand shot down to her belly.

"Shirt off. Now!" Chloe growled.

"I–I'm fine. I–"

" _Now_." Max didn't argue further. She peeled off her winter jacket and then the long-sleeved grey shirt underneath it, down to nothing but a bra. Chloe swooped in, inspecting her belly, hands feeling around her back, checking for wounds, checking for blood.

Nothing.

She pulled Max into her arms and buried her face in her hair. "Thank God." The waterworks had started up again and she scrubbed at her eyes with one hand, while the other pressed Max close against her.

"I'm okay now." But Max's voice quavered, like she was on the verge of tears too. "What about you? Are you–"

"I'm fine. Fuck it, Max, I'm–" She drew back and held Max by the shoulders. "Don't you ever fucking do that again. A bodyguard's supposed to take a bullet for the hero, not the other way around."

Reaching out, Max's hands, came to rest on Chloe's cheeks, her thumbs brushing away tears. "You've taken enough bullets, Chloe." Her coat was unzipped, and Max's eyes dropped, coming to rest the bullet necklace dangling around Chloe's neck. Max clutched it for a moment. "Chloe..." Her voice cracked. And then she curled into Chloe and began to cry.

Chloe held her against her chest, not knowing quite what to say. But she was just so damn happy to have her there, to have her be okay even if she was a snotty, sobbing mess. Chloe squeezed her as tightly as she could. "I love you so much, Max."

"Chloe." Max took a shuddering breath. "Let's just go."

"Go?"

"Let's get in your truck and drive away."

"Where?"

" _Anywhere_." Another sob wracked Max's body. She sucked in air again, trying to speak. "Let's just get out of Arcadia Bay." Holding on to Max, Chloe took long, slow breaths, feeling like she'd just been kicked in the gut. "We could... go to California. Like you always wanted."

But California was where she'd planned to go with Rachel. And Rachel was dead. Because of Nathan Prescott. Because of Mark Jefferson. And if they ran and Jefferson walked... "Max?" Max drew back, just enough to look up into Chloe's face. Chloe heaved a sigh. "I hella can't believe I'm saying this but... I think we should stay."

"What?" From the look on Max's face, Chloe might as well have said that she'd decided to stop dying her hair, buy a pair of pom-poms, and try out for the Bigfoots cheerleading squad.

She reached for Max's hands and squeezed them. "I think all this is happening for a reason. And maybe we need to see it through. Who else is going to make sure Jefferson's ass stays in jail?"

" _Chloe_." The anguish in Max's voice cut through her and almost made her change her mind. "I'm scared that if we stay something will happen to you. And I won't be able to go back and fix it this time."

"You're the one who just got shot."

Max shook her head. "But it was supposed to be Susan, wasn't it? She was the one in the hospital."

"You had your arm in a sling. They must've both gotten hit. You didn't roleplay that right. You were supposed to let me take it."

Max's steely gaze locked with hers. "Not ever. Not again."

Chloe sighed. "Only one way to settle this." She held out her fist.

"Wha–"

She pumped her fist once. "I win we stay. You win we go."

Max's mouth opened but then she nodded and held out her hand. One. Two. "Come on, Max, let's rock."

Three.

Max held out a balled fist, Chloe, an open hand, palm down. Slowly, she covered Max's "rock" fist and wrapped her "paper" palm around it. She squeezed Max's hand until it unclenched. "We good?"

Max nodded slowly. "Chloe, did you... cheat?"

Chloe rubbed the back of her neck. "I may have sort of primed you a bit."

"Primed?"

"Yeah when I said rock, it made you think of rock so you were more likely to choose that. Like when you show someone a yellow flashcard and then ask them to name a fruit and they say 'banana'. I read about in a science mag a while ago."

"I think I liked you better when you hated math." Max's eyes were red and swollen and she was sniffling a bit too, but Chloe loved her more than ever, even like that. Shivering, Max rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms. Chloe scooped up her discarded generic grey shirt and held it out to her. But instead of taking it, Max leaned in again and kissed her.

Chloe's eyes slid closed, as she wrapped Max up in her arms again. Max's lips tasted of salt, tasted liked tears, but her mouth was warm and so was the bare skin under Chloe's fingers. Her hands trailed down Max's spine, making her shiver again. Max's lips moved to trail down her jaw, her neck, and a growl poured out of Chloe's throat, her pulse leaping to meet those roving lips. Her hands, roamed Max's skin, sliding up along her ribs, sliding higher.

"Hey, lovebirds." They froze as a voice sounded from right outside their tent. "Time to go."

Chloe muttered a curse under her breath and turned towards the tent flap. It would look suspicious if they just hung around the cafeteria so she'd asked Justin to keep watch and let them know when it was clear. At the time it had seemed like hella good idea. Now... "Seriously, dude, can't a girl try to get to second base in peace?"

"Chloe!" Max hissed, even as she reached for her shirt and began tugging it over her head.

Chloe grinned at her. "Come on, Mad-Love-Max. Time for the Blackwell Ninjas to get it in gear."

There was an ache in her belly that made her want to ditch the plan and go back to making out with Max. But there was a thrill in her veins that was from more than that. They were on the case again, and this time they would make sure Mark Jefferson paid for everything he'd done. One way or another.


	16. Sixteen: Boxed In

**Sixteen: Boxed in**

Walking straight into Blackwell's main building wasn't quite what Max would call a job for the Blackwell Ninjas. The fluorescent lights beamed down from the ceiling with oppressive brightness. The tiled floor, the lockers, the brass doorknobs–everything was too shiny, too bright, like the set of some low-budget horror movie. The only thing that ruined the effect was the chatter wafting down the hallway from the group of women lined up for the bathroom; no one wanted to use the porta-potties if they could avoid it.

Justin glanced around and then, in a hushed tone, "You gonna let me in on your secret mission?"

Chloe bumped her shoulder into his. "Wouldn't be so secret then, would it?"

"Come on, man. I totally played lookout for you. Hook a bro up."

"It's not that kind of secret mission."

He looked disappointed as he reached up to adjust his glasses. His middle fingers were splinted and bandaged together. Max looked away. She knew how his hand had been hurt. His hand would heal, but so many other wounds never would. People had died. Because of a choice she'd made.

Even under these bright lights, with Chloe just inches away from her, she couldn't get the thunder of gunshots out of her head. It was a sound that had become all too familiar to her. It was why she'd been able to react so quickly. And she'd done it, she'd saved Chloe.

Getting shot? Not so fun, though. Like being skewered on a hot poker, and all her thoughts, all her awareness had been focussed on it. Her world had narrowed until it had been made up only of the searing pain. That must have been how Chloe had felt that first time when she'd been shot in the bathroom. But if she had to choose–and honest-to-Dog-she was sick of making choices–she would take the pain over seeing Chloe shot again.

By the time they'd reached the cafeteria, Chloe had managed to convince Justin that there was no weed involved in tonight's outing and he wandered off, looking crestfallen. The sound of clattering dishes wafted from the kitchen, but the diners had long since been shooed out of the cafeteria and the coast was clear. Glancing over her shoulder in either direction just to be sure, Chloe gave a nod and strode to the nondescript door to one side of the hall. She tugged it open and waved a hand towards the descending staircase. "Ladies first."

Max huffed. "Thanks, Mr. Darcy." She ignored the light switch at the top of the stairs and instead used her phone's flashlight app to light the way down the stairs.

She followed the pool of light down a single flight that opened onto a narrow corridor. The cement floor was discoloured, a network of cracks working its way from the stairs out into the corridor. The walls looked to be brick, interrupted only by a red door to her right and, to her left, a saffron door with flaking paint. Max rubbed at her arms, glad she had her coat as it was noticeably colder down here. Now that power had been restored, Blackwell's main building was heated again, but obviously there weren't any heat registers down here.

Chloe hopped down the last couple of steps. "It's the puke coloured door."

"What's behind the red one?"

"Utility room. Always locked." She strode up to the saffron door and tried the doorknob. It rattled, not quite screwed in all the way but the door didn't budge. Chloe dug in her pocket until she produced her wallet and pulled out a card. "The lock-picking thing didn't work so well last time, but this time's gonna be hella impressive."

Max crossed her arms and peered at Chloe with a raised eyebrow. "You're going to swipe and save?"

"Watch and learn, Maxaroni." Max held her phone light over the door as Chloe slid the card into the gap between the door and its frame, just over the bolt. She angled it, adjusted, and then turned the nob. Nothing happened. "Shitballs," she grumbled, and tried again. This time the lock clicked and the door creaked open. "Yes!" Chloe's fist shot up in triumph.

"You did it!"

"See? Told you it would work."

"I dub thee Card Captor Chloe." Max couldn't keep a smile from her face as she tapped Chloe's shoulders with her phone. "What card is that anyway? I _know_ you don't have a credit card."

"Yup. Still rich as fuck." She handed the card to Max and she was greeted by a photo of a frowning Chloe with short blond hair. "Old student card."

Max's fingers linger over the laminated photograph. It was hard to imagine Chloe walking Blackwell's halls and slouching in the same chairs Max had sat in just a matter of weeks ago. "I wish I'd been here."

"You're here now." Chloe slung an arm around Max's shoulder. "The new and improved Maxine Caulfield."

"Improved, huh?"

"Hella improved." And, with a cheeky grin, she grabbed Max's ass.

Max squeaked, her face flushing. At least it was too dark for Chloe to see her blush.

"You are so fucking cute."

Huffing, Max gave Chloe a shove towards the door. "Get in there. Before someone hears us."

" _Oooh_ , I like it when you get bossy."

"Now."

Together they shuffled through the open door. After a minute of searching around they discovered a light switch and decided to chance it. A pair of bare light bulbs suspended from the ceiling sputtered to life, casting hulking shadows around the small, square room. Boxes. A mausoleum of boxes, packed to bursting. The air was thick and musty, more dust than air really. Max's fingertips brushed over the top of the nearest box and a tickle in her nose gave her a moment's warning so she could sneeze into her sleeve.

"Gesundheit."

Leaning closer to the box, Max managed to spot numbers scrawled on a faded label taped to the lid: 1963. Max groaned. " _These_ are the records? I was expecting them to be in filing cabinets like upstairs."

Chloe shrugged. "Guess they just chuck the old stuff into boxes and shove it down here."

The next closest pile of boxes had a yellowing label from the 1940s. Some of the boxes had dark stains on the side that looked like water damage.

"1968 over here," Chloe announced. "And 1985."

"It looks like they've been moved around. They're not in any order." Max groaned. "Chloe, it's going to take us all night to find the right box."

"At least they're labelled." She paused, glanced down at one of the boxes, spun it around to inspect all sides. "Most of them anyway."

With a sigh. "I'll take this half, you take that one." And then, pulling her scarf up over her nose, she began inspecting the dusty boxes.

#

Sighing, Max checked her phone and found that it was well after midnight. David would have already finished his rounds by now and locked up. They should be able to make an easy escape... assuming they were every delivered from this box hell they were stranded in.

"So, Max, are you card-bored yet?"

Max groaned and glared at Chloe. She'd lost track of the number of boxes she'd checked. Some had been almost falling apart and seemed to date back to the earliest days of the school, back before World War I. 1910 if she remembered her Blackwell history right.

"Feeling a little... boxed-in?"

It was the lifting and shifting of boxes that was the real pain. She kept having to stack and re-stack boxes and move them around to get at the bottom ones. "I'm so tired of playing box-Tetris. Worst game ever."

"Hey at least we're back in action," Chloe said, using her jacket sleeve to rub away some dust. "It's pretty _crate_." She paused. "You know? Crate? Like a box?"

" _Chloe_." Something in her spine cracked as she heaved a box from one pile to another. "No more boxes."

"Okay. Fine." A pause. "What do you call it when Maxine Caulfield gets off? Max-turbation." She didn't dignify that with a response. "Dude, you are so blushing."

"I am not."

"I can see your neck turning red." Max tugged her jacket collar back up.

"I'm just warm." She pushed open the lid to a box with no label and riffled through the contents. The prevalence of tie-dye headbands and long hair strongly suggested the 1960s.

"Max?"

"No more jokes, please, Chloe."

"No, Max, I think I found it. 1990." It took some box-hopscotch to get over to Chloe and she already had the box open and was searching through it by the time Max reached her. She grabbed a pile of folders and handed them to Max.

Jason Adams. Christopher Brown. Rebecca Delisle. She flipped through them quickly. No Michelle.

"Dude, these hairstyles singlehandedly put a hole in the ozone layer." She glanced over at her girlfriend, only to find that Chloe had become distracted by the photos attached to each profile. "And no one needs that much eyeshadow."

"The master of fashion has spoken." She reached into the box and grabbed another handful of files. Nick Salinas. Michelle Sanders! "Chloe, I think I–" She broke off, staring at the photograph in the file. A bespectacled girl with curly brown hair and freckles squinted back at her.

Chloe peered over her shoulder. "That one scores a zero on the punk scale."

"Sorry, false alarm."

"On to the next-files." She hummed the opening bars to the X-Files theme. "Don't I get points for '90s puns?"

"Only if I get to be Scully." Back to the files.

Nicole Troelsen. Stephanie Tee. Michelle Van Aardt.

This time she waited until she'd checked the photo. It was no more than a few inches across, but the bleach-blond hair and dramatic mascara were familiar to her. "I found her!"

"Van Aardt? Score! Guessing that name won't pull up a bajillion results."

Max reached for her phone so they'd have a record of all her contact info, which might come in handy. "Hey!" she said as Chloe snatched the file before she could get a photo.

"We can take the file. Not like anyone's going to notice it's missing."

Stealing from an archive? It made her inner rule-abider cringe, but she supposed they could always slip the file under the door when they were done. Chloe tugged at her arm, pulling her up, grinning like they'd just scored a major victory. "This is gold, Max."

Her good humour was infectious and Max grinned back at her. It was so good to feel like they were actually making progress, actually getting closer to putting the pieces together. Taking Chloe's hand in hers, she interlaced their fingers and led her towards the door. "Time to make our getaway."

"Sure you don't want to stop by the Otters' layer first?"

"The pool is empty."

"Would be awesome to check it out."

Max turned off the light behind them and, getting out her phone, turned on the flashlight app to guide them back upstairs. Her sinuses felt stuffed from all the dust. She paused to search for a Kleenex, but came up empty. And she certainly wasn't going to trust anything that came out of Chloe's pockets. She sniffled a couple of times and then headed up the stairs, Chloe in tow.

They paused at the top of the stairs but it was nearly one a.m. now and the cafeteria was silent and dark. Relief washed through Max and she let out a long breath, shoulders slumping. Thank Dog. She'd been worried David might still be lurking about. You never knew with him and his crazy surveillance obsession. Not that that obsession hadn't proved useful, but she didn't really want to have to explain why she and Chloe had been poking around the school's basement.

"All clear." Chloe slung an arm around Max's shoulders. Max slid hers around Chloe's waist and they walked like that, back towards the main exit, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous hallways. All the while Chloe tried to convince her to make a detour to the empty pool.

They had just turned the corner and come up to Principal Wells's office and Chloe was making a final plea, when a flash of light seeped out from under the door.

Max froze.

"Max?"

"Chloe, hush!" she hissed, pulling Chloe back. The light flickered, moved. A flashlight. Someone was in the office. And it wasn't Principal Wells.


	17. Seventeen: Not Broken

**Seventeen: Not Broken**

The light coming from beneath Principal Wells's door moved again. Properly speaking it was the door to the school secretary's office, located outside Well's office proper, but Chloe didn't think it was the secretary working late somehow.

Clamped around her arm, Max's fingers threatened to cut off her circulation, but Chloe didn't dare speak or even whisper. The hammering of her heart seemed louder than the roar of her truck's ancient engine. She was surprised it didn't echo through the empty hallways. They were so close to the door, so close to getting the hell out of here. They just needed to get past here and then they'd be in the clear. Max sniffled. Chloe elbowed her and she gave a helpless shrug and pinched her nose.

 _Oh for fuck's sake, don't sneeze._ She tried to send the thought-vibe Max's way. It was like something out of low-budget horror movie: the congested heroine lets loose an badly-timed sneeze, alerting the psycho killer to her location.

Chloe put her finger to her lips and then used her index and middle finger to mime walking towards the door. Max nodded.

They crept forward, stepping lightly. Stepping slowly. Max sniffled and Chloe's heart leaped into her throat. But then she reached up and pinched her nostrils together for a few seconds. _Disaster averted._

A clatter from Wells's office.

 _Or not._

The door creaked open. "Shitballs. Run!"

They made a dash for it, boots clattering on the linoleum, and echoing through the halls as if an entire track team were in there with them. Another set of footsteps joined the cacophony, echoing out of sync with theirs just before they crashed through the door. They kept running.

Chloe darted a glance over her shoulder. Standing on the front steps of the school was a figure. Not David Madsen. Had to be a woman. She didn't make out more than that; instead, her eyes fixed on the shiny black barrel of a revolver.

For a second her mind flashed back to the vision earlier that evening. Max's blood on the pavement, her face contorted with pain. Lying there with her hands pressed against the bleeding hole in Max's belly. Her heart thumped out of time and she stumbled. Max slowed and steadied her and they kept running. Super Max to the rescue. Always the hero. Her hero.

Dashing across the law, Max swerved in the direction of football field. Chloe snagged her arm and tugged her off course. "Not that way."

"But–"

"Just come on!"

They kept running and she didn't look back. Pulling Max along, she headed for the girls' dorm. The building had suffered some damage during the storm from downed trees and several of the windows were boarded up. Darkened as they were, the remaining windows stared down at them like empty eye sockets. Chloe took Max's hand and pulled her along to the side of the building, finally slowing down as they rounded the corner.

Another boarded up window greeted them. Before Max could ask, Chloe tugged at the plywood, lifting it from the bottom. "Get in!" After only a moment's hesitation, Max squeezed under the board and stumbled through the empty window frame. Chloe followed, throwing one leg up over the window frame and then the other. Her boots crunched on broken glass.

The interior of the dorm was even darker than outside, and it took her eyes several seconds to adjust. Looked like a common room judging by the chairs, couch, and broken TV. For several minutes, they waited, crouched low in the corner where no one could see them even if they peered through one of the remaining windows.

But no lights flickered outside and there was no knocking, no movement. No nothing. Chloe's heart began to thrum not with fear, but with triumph. "Think we're clear." Max nodded. Grinning, Chloe shot to her feet. "Hella yes!"

Looking a bit shaky, Max stood. "Did you see who it was?"

Chloe shook her head. "No. But she had a gun."

"Why is everyone in Arcadia Bay armed?" Max heaved a sigh but then she tilted her head and peered at Chloe. "How did you know the board would be loose?"

"Cuz I loosened it."

"Why?"

"So we'd have an escape route in case we ran into Mr. mall cop. Come on, Max, that was serious ninja shit right there."

Max was smiling at her, looking pleased. She cocked her head and crossed her arms. "Planning ahead. What have you done with the real Chloe Price?"

"You're not the only one who's new and improved, Max-Attack."

"Have you got the file?" Chloe reached into the back of her pants where she'd stuffed the file before they'd started running. It was a little crumpled but safe and sound. "We really did it. Even without my rewind powers."

She took Max's face in her hands and locked gazes. "You don't need super powers to be Super Max."

Instead of answering, Max pushed herself up on her toes and pressed her lips to Chloe's. Chloe wound her arms around Max's waist and pulled her in close. Their jackets were bulky and she so wanted to feel Max's warmth. After everything tonight she wanted so badly to be close, to feel Max's heartbeat, to make sure she was really real and safe and all in one hella awesome piece.

When Max drew back for breath, she was grinning, a giddy laugh tripping from her lips. "We should head back."

"No way." She took Max's hand and gave her arm a tug towards the main hall. "Dude we're in your dorm! You have to show me your room."

"Chloe."

"Come on. No one even knows we're here. You can give me the private tour." When Max turned on her flashlight app, Chloe knew she'd won.

Max led her upstairs and along the corridor lined with doors at short intervals. Cork boards on the walls were still festooned with posters announcing the next Vortex club party and notices about a missing tablet with cat pics. They stopped outside a door whose whiteboard featured an expressionless stick person with the name Max hovering over its head. While Max was searching through her pockets for her dorm key, Chloe grabbed the marker and scrawled an addendum. She stood back to admire her handiwork.

The sign now boasted, "Max rulz" and the stick figure looked happier. Also it had a mohawk.

"Found it!" Max said, finally digging the key out of the back pocket of her jeans. "Sorry. I kept it secret, kept it safe." She turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

Chloe stepped in after her and pawed around till she found a light switch.

"What are you doing? Someone will see the light from outside. I thought we were in stealth mode."

"Chill. Just pull the blinds."

The window was intact–or mostly intact anyway. The one on the left sported a duct-tape X over one pane, like a bandage holding it together. It had cracked but it had not broken. Max lingered there for a moment, her fingers poised over the damaged pane.

"Max?"

She gave herself a shake and closed the blinds on each window while Chloe did a 360 of the room. Max's valuables had been packed up by one of her friends, so the room looked a bit more bare that it normally would have–no electronics, no DVDs, no photography gear. Piles of books and clothes, though, scattered here and there. Posters and pin-ups covering the walls. And a comfy looking bed, blankets still in a disorderly heap where they'd been tossed the last time Max had slept here.

"So..." Max said shrugging. "This is it."

"It's awesome. Way less neat than I was expecting." Chloe's eyes lingered for some moments on Max's unmade bed before she really took in the wall of selfies. "Ah the wall of fame!" She strode over and leaned in to get a look at the collection. Dozens of Maxes gazed at her, looking alternately uncertain, anxious, tentative, and–on rare occasion–happy.

Max came up next to her, inspecting the wall and then dropping down onto the bed, back to the photos. "I really should redecorate. I think I'm done with selfies."

Chloe sat and put an arm around her waist. "You just need some new inspiration."

"Maybe I'll just cover it with pictures of you." There wasn't time for a snappy comeback before Max added, "You're my inspiration."

Turning to look at her, at the way Max was gazing up at her like she was... like she was something special, like she was someone worth sacrificing a town for. Chloe rubbed the back of her neck. "But I'm just–"

"My faithful companion?" Max suggested.

Chloe grinned. "And chauffeur."

Though power had been restored, the heat still wasn't on in the dorms and Max's fingers were cold on Chloe's neck as she gently pulled Chloe down to kiss her. Icy fingers, mussed hair, chapped lips–Chloe loved all of it. They'd run a successful raid, escaped, and even snuck into a sealed building. And now Max was kissing her. It was perfect.

When she drew back for breath, Max didn't speak; she just looked at her. Chloe could never figure what Max saw that was worth all this drama, what she saw that was so different from what everyone else did. But she must have seen it because she leaned in again and kept kissing her.

Max's fingers fumbled at Chloe's throat until she found the jacket's zipper and tugged it down. Chloe obliged and shrugged off her jacket. It was when Max started to tug at hem of her shirt that it really dawned on her: Max Caulfield was undressing her.

She pulled back, breathless and giddy. "Max? Are we doing this?"

Max's face was flushed. She bit her lip for a second and then nodded. "Yes. We are." Chloe leaned in to kiss her again but Max drew back, hand raised. "But if you say 'hot monkey sex' even once, I'm changing my mind. Immediately."

"What? You don't like h–"

"Even once."

Chloe snapped her jaws shut. And then, glancing at the crumpled sheets, "We are so going to freeze our asses off."

"I've got some extra blankets." Max hurried over to her closet and fumbled with the blankets as Chloe watched her; Max's hands were trembling, her face and neck still beet red.

Chloe lay back on Max's bed, her head on Max's pillow, every nerve tingling, waiting for Max to settle down and work up the nerve to come back over to her. She folded her hands under her head and let out a long sigh. "Hella comfier than the tent. _And_ ," Chloe drawled, turning over and propping herself up on one elbow, "no one will hear you if you turn out to be a scream–" And for that she got a blanket to the face.

"I am _not_ a screamer."

"Interesting hypothesis, Doctor Maximus. But I'm going to need some convincing evidence before I can accept your theory." She patted the mattress.

That twitch of Max's lips was exactly what Chloe had been hoping for. "You are such a dork."

"Good thing you're hella into dorks."

She held out a hand. Stepping forward, Max took it and closed the distance between them.


	18. Eighteen: Morning

**Eighteen: Morning**

Max woke to sunlight, seeping through the blinds. Blinking and groggy, she lay there in the thick, golden light, watching dust particles dance in the air above her. Next to her, the curves of Chloe's body pressed into hers, warm and soft and perfect. For an instant she wished she had her camera, but the urge passed; she could never capture the essence of this moment on film or in pixels.

A groan and a long exhalation told her Chloe was awake too. Her jaws opened in a face-splitting yawn as she ran her fingers through her dishevelled mop of blue hair and then stretched with glorious immodesty. How Chloe could look so fucking gorgeous first thing in the morning, while she herself resembled a puffy-eyed zombie, seemed to defy the laws of physics. "Morning, Max."

"Chloe," Max said, smiling so hard her face ached.

"Hate to break it to you, but it looks like someone stole all your clothes again."

She giggled. "That was you."

"Oh yeah." She turned onto her side and reached out to pull Max in. "Come here."

She curled into Chloe, head tucked under her chin, arms twined around each other, legs tangled together, and for a while they lay in the morning sunlight under their heaps of blankets. Chloe pressed her lips to the top of Max's head. "Love you, Max. Hella."

A contented sigh poured out of her as she cuddled closer, on the verge of drifting back to sleep. Chloe shifted and Max's eyes flickered open a moment, coming to rest on the tattooed arm poking out from under the blankets. Max trailed her fingers over the spirals of thorny vines between the tropical blooms. It was just like Chloe, something beautiful tangled up in all those thorns. She pressed her lips to the brilliant red ink.

Stroking her hair, Chloe leaned close to Max's ear and, as if she'd been thinking along the same lines, whispered, "You're the flower, Max."

"Chloe." The name fell from her lips like a whispered prayer. Her hand travelled down the smooth skin of Chloe's back, to the undulations of her rib cage, and the rise of her hip, delighting in the solidity of the warm body pressed against hers. She was real. Real and so wonderfully alive. "I'm so glad you're here with me. And..." She pulled away so that she could look up into Chloe's eyes. "Thanks for not letting me ditch Arcadia Bay."

"Glad it was the right call. I mean I'm not exactly life coach material here." Chloe huffed and Max felt the air leave her lungs, felt the heat of Chloe's breath across her skin.

They stayed like that for several minutes more until finally Chloe sighed. "Dude, what time is it? I don't want to get busted if mall-cop starts doing a patrol or something."

Max grimaced. That was an alarming thought.

They scrabbled around for their phones which remained in the pockets of their discarded clothes. Max found hers first. It was 11:34 a.m.

"Shitballs. Mom's blowing up my phone." A disgusted grunt followed as Chloe scanned the messages. "She wants to talk about Thanksgiving."

"We can go get lunch and talk to Joyce right away," Max said absently. "Thanksgiving won't be bad. For cereal. We'll have turkey and cranberry sauce and my grandma will bring a homemade pumpkin pie."

Chloe grunted.

Jeans half pulled on, Max paused and glanced at Chloe as she sat there on the edge of the bed glaring at her phone with not a stitch of clothing on. A blush crept up Max's face as she took in every line and curve laid bare by the sunlight.

Chloe caught her staring and her frown turned into a–just slightly–smug grin. "Taking in the scenery, Maximus?" And then with a raised eyebrow, her gaze raked up and down Max's half dressed body.

And in spite of the fact that Max knew Chloe had seen every single freckle already, she still felt herself flushing right up to her ears.

Grinning, Chloe leaned over and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Get some clothes on, lazy-ass. Time to get back to the real world."

#

The lunchtime rush was in full swing when they returned to the scene of the crime. Almost-crime? Borrowing archival documents wasn't anywhere near as bad as stealing from the handicapped fund had been–and both were, after all, for a good cause–but still Max felt a twinge as they passed the basement door and marched into the cafeteria.

They waited in line for their lunches–tuna(?) salad sandwiches with a side of pureed squash... or carrots... or maybe yam since it was almost the holidays? Max couldn't say for sure. At the end of the line, Joyce was spooning out squarish looking green peas, but she got someone to take her place and sat down with them at their table.

"David's having trouble finding someone who can cover for him over the holidays so–"

"So he's not coming?" Chloe suggested as she poked the fishy filling of her sandwich.

Joyce gave her a stern look. "He's coming. But we're going to have to drive in that morning. We'll leave early so we don't hold anyone up."

Max glanced at Chloe, but she appeared to be inspecting the orange mush on her plate and Max decided it was up to her. "I think we're planning to go the day before."

Chloe huffed. "So we don't have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn."

Joyce turned her attention to Max. "Are you sure your family won't mind having us overnight? Your mother said your grandma would be coming too."

"It's fine," Max assured her. "You and David will have the guest room, grandma will have my room, and Chloe and I can use the pull-out couch downstairs."

The look Chloe shot her was much like the one from last week when Max had said that the cafeteria's mystery meat 'wasn't that bad'. "After all that camping we don't even get to sleep in a real bed?"

"We could set up the tent is the backyard if you really want."

"Pass."

After a spoonful of the orange stuff, Max still wasn't sure whether it was carrot, squash or some mixture of both. "Why does David need a replacement? The work crews will be on holidays, won't they?"

"It's mostly to keep an eye on Blackwood and prevent vandalism," Joyce said. "He's fit to be tied. The police are already busy what with all the mess." She heaved a sigh. "And they're transferring Jefferson to county tomorrow."

"Good riddance," Chloe muttered.

"But if they haven't found Nathan..."

Joyce reached out and put a hand on Max's shoulder. "That's the district attorney's problem now, not yours."

And though she mumbled her agreement, all she could think of as she munched on her tuna-ish sandwich was booting up her laptop and trying to find out everything she could about Michelle Van Aardt.

#

They divided the search areas between them: Max focussed on Arcadia Bay and its environs, using her phone again, while Chloe got the laptop to troll the Seattle records. It was the sort of mission that required coffee and electrical outlets so they parked themselves at Bay Café again and dug in.

Sighing, Max downed the remains of her now tepid coffee and squinted at her phone. She'd found a few Michelle Van Aardts on social media, but none seemed connected to Oregon, and the photos she found didn't look even remotely like the punk girl in the 90s photographs. Across from her, Chloe was frowning at the laptop screen like it had flipped her the bird, and in spite of everything, Max couldn't help but smile. She loved that beautiful pissed off face so much.

And she loved how hard Chloe had tried to help her relax last night. She'd been so nervous, but there was Chloe, making lame jokes every time Max started feeling embarrassed or awkward. Being able to laugh through all the imperfect moments made the whole of them beautiful. It was like a photo where individual elements were broken or uneven, but taken together they balanced out the entire composition; a perfect photo wasn't a photo of something perfect.

Chloe caught her staring and, grinning, winked. "No slacking off, Max-Attack."

Max rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her phone. She started looking for _any_ Van Aardts in Oregon. That was when she found the obituary.

It was a short announcement about the death of Evelyn Van Aardt, aged 65. The date was October 9, two days before the storm. Oddly it didn't mention family or much of anything except that the service would held Wednesday and flowers could be sent to the Arcadia Bay Cemetery.

A wave of cold shuddered down Max's spine. That was where Chloe would have been buried if she'd died... if Max had let Nathan shoot her. Chloe would be there and Nathan would be in prison instead of... Of wherever he was. But he knew that graveyard too. His contest photo... it had been a black and white shot of a gravedigger. She'd glanced at it when she and Chloe had gone on their first nighttime raid at Blackwell. And while the image had been disturbing, it had also been an excellent shot.

The photo had been taken at a distance so that the gravedigger's features were vague, just a large shape, bent over with a shovel. Whose grave had he been digging and when had Nathan been at the cemetery? Arcadia Bay was a small town–they wouldn't be digging there every day. If the photo was at all recent then it could have been Evelyn Van Aardt's grave. Max grimaced at the thought of Nathan scanning the obituaries for a chance at a morbid photo op.

Max got to her feet. "I'm going to order some more coffee. You want anything?"

"Wouldn't say no to more caffeine."

Her thoughts lingered on the cemetery and the grave that would have been dug for Evelyn Van Aardt, even as she rang the bell and ordered more coffee for them both. Jefferson would have needed an easy place to ditch Nathan's corpse. Was a cemetery too obvious?

A few minutes later, she returned to their table in the back corner, coffees in hand. She was just setting down their paper cups when Chloe's fist thumped down on the table. "He killed her!"

"What?" Chloe's eyes blazed, her hands gripped the edges of the table, white knuckled and Max was worried she would overturn it, Hulk-style.

"That motherfucker killed her."

Max moved to her side, reaching to squeeze her shoulder. "Who?"

"Michelle." She shook her head. "Fuck it, Max, Michelle Van Aardt... She's dead."


	19. Nineteen: Obituaries

**Nineteen: Obituaries**

Max insisted that they go out and walk around the block until Chloe had calmed down enough to give her a proper coherent account of what she'd found. For ten minutes she stomped down the sidewalk, a cigarette between her lips, her hands balled in the pockets of her jacket while Max held on to their cooling coffee. After a few go-rounds, Chloe tossed the stub of her cigarette to the ground and crushed the embers under the toe of her boot like it had personally offended her.

"Let's sit down okay?" Max suggested, handing Chloe her coffee. They were standing on the edge of the empty lot across from the Bay Café, where the Bayview Motel had once stood. A California company that usually dealt with earthquakes had been hired by the county to clean up the storm damage and they'd already removed the debris. The only thing left was the cement medians in the tiny parking lot. They perched on one of these, backs to the water so they wouldn't have to look at the lighthouse. "What happened?"

Chloe sighed, the white puff of her breath hanging suspended for a moment in the cool air. Only after a few sips of coffee did she finally start to talk. "I Googled the shit out of her name and couldn't find anything. I found other Michelle Van Aardts on social media and all that, but nothing that looked like her. So I finally got the idea to search the Seattle Times. Everything from the past thirty years is searchable on their site. I thought maybe I'd get something about the shooting." Chloe unpacked Max's laptop and opened it to the page she'd been reading in the café. "Just read this."

Hands wrapped around her paper cup for warmth, Max's brow scrunched up as she peered at the screen. It was an obituary for Michelle Van Aardt, 22. It was brief. It said only that she was a former resident of Arcadia Bay and daughter of... of Evelyn Van Aardt. There couldn't possibly be more than one Van Aardt family in Arcadia Bay but... She couldn't believe it. There had to be a mistake. "But, Chloe, we saw her in the hospital. And then at the club on New Year's Eve. She didn't die in the shooting."

"Look at the date, Max."

Born March 3, died January 7, 1995. A week after the New Year's Eve party, a week after being introduced to Jefferson. "I–I don't understand. How..."

"That photo, Max... He must have... he must've done something to her."

Max felt like she'd swallowed a tray full of ice cubes and had them sitting in her gut. "What about Susan?"

Chloe shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't find anything but she's got a Google-proof name."

Max leaned into Chloe, pressing herself against her side. Chloe put her arm around Max's shoulders and they sat like that for a while as the lull of waves lapping against the shore filled the silence.

A truck rumbled past on the highway, startling words out of Max. "I guess I was hoping that they were out there somewhere. That they were okay. Like us."

"Me too."

It would have been so easy for Chloe not to be there. There had been so many times when Arcadia Bay had tried to snatch her away. Tears beginning to prickle her eyes, Max buried her face in Chloe's shoulder and took long breaths of her smoky scent. "I love you, Chloe."

Chloe's arms encircled her. "Love you too." She pressed a kiss to the top of Max's head. "You think it's too much to ask for us to just be happy? Would the universe fucking break apart if we were?"

Max pressed herself close to that body she'd been caressing just hours ago and tried to remember that blissful morning, lying in sunlight, lazy with joy. "You said Arcadia Bay was full of ghosts and monsters."

Chloe huffed. "Like a haunted house."

Max's thoughts returned to the graveyard, to Nathan's photo and the gravedigger. It was Michelle's mother who had died last month. He'd been digging up the same plot that held Michelle's remains.

 _I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and catch you in a moment of desperation._

She could still hear Jefferson's voice, silky smooth and casual, even as he hinted at his darkest secrets. Like a game that he was masterminding. Always with him it was a matter of controlling others. He got off on it. Maybe the gravedigger photo hadn't even been Nathan's idea; maybe it was Jefferson who had spotted the obit and suggested it to his would-be protege. Another private joke. And then when he realized he had to dispose of Nathan... It would delight him, wouldn't it–the idea of hiding his latest victim with his first?

"Chloe?" Max said, raising her head to look at her girlfriend. "I think I know where Nathan's buried." Max explained her theory.

For a long time, Chloe was silent. Finally she shook her head. "David is never going to believe that."

"What about you?"

Taking Max's hand, she interlaced their fingers. "I'll always believe you, Max."

She squeezed those fingers. "I'm so glad you're here. I don't know what I'd have done if..." She shook her head. "I wouldn't be able to talk to anyone about what happened. No one would believe me. They'd pack me up and up and send me to the psych ward."

"But hey, free meds."

Max rolled her eyes and they headed off to find David.

They caught up to him outside the Blackwell dorms where he was overseeing a crew of workmen replacing the broken windows on the ground floor. "There goes our secret entrance," Chloe muttered.

But Max found herself smiling. The boarded up windows had made the dorm look derelict, like the abandoned storefronts in her vision. The clatter of drills and hammers became a cheerful chatter and somehow she felt... lighter. As if the plywood had been bandages that were finally being peeled away revealing something that was whole again.

Max took Chloe's hand and squeezed her fingers.

A frown and a weary sigh were the greeting they got when David spotted them. "You two don't know anything about a break-in last night?"

"A break-in?" Max repeated, her pulse jumping. She wasn't sure if he meant the archives or the dorm room. She wasn't sure which would be worse.

"Someone picked the lock on Principal Wells's office."

Chloe, arms crossed, head tilted to one side as she rolled her eyes, was the perfect picture of contempt. It was her default mode when dealing with David, and Max at once sympathised and wanted to shake her. They needed David on their side. "Sure wasn't us then. I can't pick locks worth shit."

"Thief skill zero," Max added with a little smile, hoping to remind Chloe of their original Blackwell raid, that night at the pool, and that beautiful lazy morning when Chloe had dared Max to kiss her.

David crossed his arms. "I didn't accuse you. I'm asking if you know anything. I know you were out late last night," he added.

Max jumped in before Chloe could get defensive again. "We saw someone at the front entrance. A woman. But it could've been anyone."

"When was that?"

Chloe and Max glanced at each other and finally Chloe shrugged. "One a.m. maybe?"

Stepping forward, Max steeled herself, trying to remember what it was like to be Super Max, that feeling of being invincible, of being able to change things... for the better. "David, there's something we need to talk to your about. I think I know where Nathan Prescott might be."

David heaved another sigh and Max spoke quickly before he could object. "There was an open grave in the cemetery just before the storm. Nathan did a photo shoot there for his contest submission so Jefferson would've known about it."

"And you think he just dumped the Prescott boy right in? That's awfully thin."

Max wanted to tell him about Michelle Van Aardt, about how it was also the grave of Jefferson's first victim. But there was no way to prove what they'd found any more than she could prove that Jefferson had confessed to her that he'd killed Nathan. Visions just didn't count in the legal system.

Chloe had moved closer, an arm around her waist, drawing her in. Chloe's warmth eased the hollow chill creeping up from her gut. Even if everything was broken, she still had Chloe.

David shook his head. "Jefferson is being transferred to State tomorrow. He'll be their problem from now on. You girls need to drop it and let the authorities do their job."

Pressed against Max, Chloe's whole body went rigid. "Like they did with Rachel?"

"Chloe, that was–"

"What? Different?"

"I was going to say it was my fault. I was following the wrong leads and I drew the wrong conclusions. And I was too late to help Rachel Amber. Or Kate Marsh. And it makes me sick to think what could have happened to you too."

She wasn't sure if Chloe's silence was from shock at David's words... or like Max's, because of what had happened, what Max had prevented. She squeezed Chloe tighter, trying to remind herself that Chloe was really real and there and not a ghost.

The whine of a power drill pierced the evening air. The workmen went about their business, oblivious to the shit going down over here. But it was always like that, wasn't it, Max thought. Everyone was in their little bubble and it was hard to really know what was happening to people even when they were only a few feet away. Even when they were right next to you.

It was a good minute before anyone spoke again. Finally, David cleared his throat. "Your mother's still waiting for your answer about Thanksgiving."

"Yeah," Chloe said, looking down at her boots, "I'll get back to her on that."

She muttered something about getting dinner and they walked in silence away from the dorm and back to the noisy cafeteria. Max barely tasted the mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and spam. Over and over, her mind returned to Michelle's final portrait and she knew what she had to do next. She waited until they were back in their tent to bring it up with Chloe.

Dropping down onto the floor of the tent, Max pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "I feel like we're missing something."

Chloe snorted. "Evidence?"

"No, I– Well yes, but I mean besides that."

"A miracle?"

" _Chloe_." Chloe shrugged and sat down next to her, legs crossed, patting her pockets as if looking for a cigarette. "I was thinking about... the photo."

That got Chloe's full attention. Her face morphed into that pissed off scowl that was so unlike the Chloe she'd grown up with but so familiar to Max now. "Fuck that. The last time you touched that thing I found you passed out on the floor. Scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry." She hugged her knees tighter. Who was that girl she'd been in September? The one who'd waffled about contacting Chloe, afraid she'd be too mad to talk to her. The one who'd taken selfie after selfie, trying to prove to herself that she was really there. The one who'd been too chickenshit to enter a school photo contest. That Max Caulfield could never have fathomed all the things she'd done, all the decisions she'd made. And the ones she still had to make.

She sort of envied that girl. Max's eyes darted to her right, to the long-limbed, blue-haired, more-than-best-friend sitting there next to her. But that girl didn't have Chloe.

"There has to be a connection between the photo and the visions."

"Yeah the connection is that Jefferson is a murderous asshole and we should've shot him when we had the chance."

Max shuddered, the sound of the gunshot echoing in her mind. The prick of a needle. Chloe's body on the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut. "We never had the chance."

"If he gets off with this 'I was framed' shit, we're going to have to like... move to Maui and change our names to Megan and Ashley Smith,"

"Can I get dibs on Megan?"

"All right, fine." Chloe held out her fist for another round of rock-paper-scissors. "You win, you look at the photo, I win–"

"Chloe," Max cut in shaking her head. "I think I'm ready to make a real decision this time."

For several seconds, Chloe was very still. And then she turned to the box and dug out the photo. Her eyes lingered on the black and white image of Michelle, probably the last photo of her while she was still alive. "She's been dead all this time, Max. She's been dead since before you were even born."

Max knew she couldn't fix it, not even with rewind powers. Some things were set in stone. She was just grateful that Chloe's death hadn't been one of them.

Looking up at Max, Chloe sighed. She opened her arms wide. "Come here."

Max scooted over to her and settled herself against Chloe, lying back against her chest, tucked in between her knees. Chloe's arms closed around. Only then did she hand Max the photo.

#

When Max opened her eyes she was standing again in the streets of Arcadia Bay among buildings untouched by time-tornadoes. But it was the mutedness of everything that really made Max aware of the tenuousness of this place. It was as if she'd shoved a pair of earbuds into her ears, making everything muffled.

Spinning in place, it took a moment for Max to get her bearings. Arcadia Bay's handful of city buildings clustered together, a few blocks down from the main drag. The tiny post office sat next to a rectangular red brick building with the words "City Hall" emblazoned above the front entrance. The dreary grey cube squatting next door was the police station. Everything looked shabbier than Max remembered: paint peeled off the door to the post office, rust speckled the wrought iron railing along the City Hall front steps, and graffiti marred the sullen grey walls of the police department.

A crowd was gathered in front of City Hall. She spotted at least three news crews–two from Seattle and another from Salem, Oregon. A figure cut through the knot of flashing cameras and outstretched mics. They fell away as he ascended the modest steps of City Hall and turned to them. The familiar smug look on Jefferson's face made Max's gut clench with fury, her fists balled at her sides. He'd won the game. And he knew it.

He was wearing a mic and after a cheeky, "testing one, two, three," sound check, he cleared his throat and addressed the audience. He opened with some pandering niceties, laying on the charm, just as he had during classes so that you'd never suspect what a monster he really was.

"You all know the facts of the case," he said finally. "The crimes I was accused of have now been proven–in a court of law–to be the result of a single, very unstable young man. Nathan Prescott." He paused, and, as if deeply grieved, shook his head. "A young man I attempted to guide and mentor. His family exploited that relationship to try to lay the blame for his crimes on me. With deliberate and malicious intent, they lured me into a position where I could be implicated in their son's crimes." He turned towards the neighbouring building that housed Arcadia Bay's police force. "I was arrested, interrogated, and charged in that very building, by a police force who were more interested in pleasing the Prescott family than in administering justice."

 _Liar! You are such a fake!_ Max wanted to scream it. Scream, that he was a liar, a monster. Would it even matter in this place if it wasn't really real? If it was just the shade of world that might have been? But she'd come here to learn something and if that meant listening to Jefferson's poison... then she would do it.

"My reputation and good name have suffered irreparable damage as result of the gross negligence and corruption of this city and its police force and the influence of the Prescott family. As a result I've decided to take legal action against both parties."

Camera flashed and the reporters started shouting questions. Max wanted to spit. He'd obviously decided to return here for the announcement because he thought it would make for good drama. Everything was always an act with him and he loved to hide in the spotlight.

He'd started taking questions from the reporters. But as their cameras filmed and flashed, something to one side caught her eye, a figure crossing the street from next to the bank. A hood was pulled up over her head, but Max stood at just the right angle to see her face. A woman, blond, middle-aged... and familiar. Max remembered her from last month. The day she'd been meeting Chloe at the Two Whales that same woman had been standing at the bus stop and had asked if the bus had been by. She'd been looking for a second job and needed to get to Newport for an interview.

With quick strides, the woman reached the knot of reporters. Something was clutched in her hand as she raised it.

A bang, deafening at this range. Cold shot through Max's body. Like a camera zooming in, her eyes focussed on Jefferson. Blood blossomed on his blazer. Another shot and more blood. He was staggering, falling. Another, and blood erupted from his face.

Max doubled over, trembling in every limb. The last thing she saw was the hooded woman with the gun. She was smiling.

#

Max jerked forward. And immediately felt the reassuring pressure of Chloe's arms tightening around her. "Oh fuck." Her heart hammered in her chest and her breath came in pants.

Chloe leaned into her, pressing her cheek against Max's. "It's okay, Max."

"No. It's not." She disentangled herself from Chloe so that she could look her in the face. "Someone shot Jefferson."

"Good."

Max shook her head. "No, it was... it was awful." The everyday sounds from outside–heavy boots stomping past the tent, murmured conversations, the roar of a motor from the parking lot–weren't enough to drown out the roar of screams that still echoed in Max's thoughts. "Chloe... the woman who stole your gun, what did she look like?"

Chloe shrugged. "Blonde. Middle aged. Taller than you."

Goose bumps prickled Max's skin. "That's her. That sounds just like the woman I saw in the vision. And if she has your gun..."

The expression on Chloe's face was one she'd seen before, the night they'd found Rachel's body, the scowl of an avenging angel. "Then he'll finally get what he fucking deserves."

She reached out and grabbed Chloe's wrist. "No, we _need_ to stop her."

"What?"

"We need to prove he's guilty."

"Who the fuck cares if we prove it? If someone blows his head off that's even better."

"The art world will care."

A bark of laughter. "The art world. Good one, Max. Yes, let's save asswipe's life because of the art world." Chloe huffed. "Weak."

"Chloe, listen to me," Max said, trying to hold Chloe's furious gaze. "If he gets shot, people are just going to remember Arcadia Bay as the place a famous photographer was murdered. No one will want to help rebuild the town and Jefferson will be in every photography textbook as this tragic 'killed before his time' figure," she said, miming a professorial voice. She shook her head. "He'd be remembered for it. I'd have to study him in college and it makes me _sick_."

"What's the difference, Max? Alive or dead he's already in the books. So he might as well be a dead artist."

Grasping Chloe's hands in hers, Max tried to send her thoughts through those hands, through her veins, trying so desperately make her understand. "If we can find proof, enough to get him convicted, his photographs will fall out of favour. When they talk about him in classrooms it'll have to be with a discussion about the artist isn't the art. Once those photographs from the dark room become public it'll make people question all of his photographs, whether it's really art or not. It'll destroy his artistic reputation. After everything that's happened, I want to help Arcadia Bay, not make it famous as the place a prominent photographer was murdered." She could see it now. People would burn candles and leave bouquets at the spot. "They'd probably commission a memorial plaque."

This got zero response from Chloe so Max pressed on. "He thinks of himself as an artist before anything else. It's all he talked about in the dark room. About his vision and all that bullshit. His reputation as an artist means more to him than his life, Chloe. That's what I want to take away from him."

The dark room... It was still inside of her, a part of her that could go from crippling fear to savage anger in a moment, a corner of her mind that would always be in the dark. She could feel it slithering up from somewhere deep in her chest, turning every part of her rigid and brittle, turning her words to jagged steel. "I don't want to kill him. I want to destroy him. I want to take away what's most important to him. I want him to live the rest of his life knowing that he won't be remembered as anything but an everyday sicko."

Chloe held her head in her hands. "Shit." She clenched her jaw tight and Max wasn't sure if she was holding back tears or about to smash something.

"Chloe–"

"Stop. Just... stop." She pawed around her piles of things for a minute until she found a half-smoked joint. She lit up and inhaled deeply as the pungent scent filled the small space of their tent. "He's being transferred tomorrow morning. You want us to... what? Be his bodyguards till he gets transferred to State?"

"Something like that. It's the only time she'll have a chance to shoot him. At least anytime soon."

Heaving a sigh, Chloe settled herself on her pillow amid her piles of clothes and rumpled blankets. "We don't even know if they can make the charges stick."

An inkling of hope skittered through Max's veins. "We'll figure something out. And I promise if someone wants to kill him later I'll be completely fine with it.

Chloe exhaled a cloud of smoke and stared up at the tent ceiling. "Fuck my life."

And Max knew that, for better or worse, she had won.


	20. Twenty: Gun

**Twenty: Gun**

Max and Chloe arrived on Second Street early enough to watch the sky dust the clouds with peach and pink, like a woman dabbing her cheeks with blush. It was beautiful even to Max's puffy, zombified eyeballs. She'd slept fitfully all night. She kept dreaming that they'd overslept and missed the prisoner transfer. Or worse they'd arrived just in time for her to watch the bullet punch through Jefferson's skull. Except sometimes in her dream it was Chloe's.

The police station was still standing, but many of the other buildings on the street hadn't fared so well. City Hall had lost its roof, and the post office was gone. Across the street, the bank had only three standing walls. The remaining structure had been propped up by temporary beams while the city decided whether they could salvage the historic stone facade of the building. Sipping her coffee, and glad to have something warm in her belly to ward off the frigid morning air, Max let her eyes linger on the broken building. She'd walked up those steps so many times, under the shade of a huge oak tree. In the fall, acorns would crunch under her feet when she went to deposit a cheque she'd gotten for dog walking or babysitting. But the oak had been snapped like a twig and the broken trunk jutted out of the earth like a spearhead, wrapped in pieces of metal siding by the fierce winds.

Max blinked rapidly, eyes stinging. "My dad brought me here when I was eight to open my first bank account."

"So did mine," Chloe said, eyes fixed on the police station across the street.

Max reached up to rest her hand on Chloe's shoulder. And then, their breath hovering in white puffs, they waited.

In Max's vision, the shooter had come out from behind the oak tree. That wouldn't be an option now, but the half demolished bank would certainly work. Max only hoped she was right and that the blond woman would do the same in this reality as she would have in the one without the storm.

Of course, this was all assuming that she hadn't jumped to conclusions. But there was the missing gun. That worried Max more than anything else.

Chloe's eyes scanned the streets, as a pair of officers headed into the station. Still no state car though. "Maybe we should split up, keep an eye on things from different angles."

Max stiffened. "No. Absolutely not." She looked up at Chloe, dead serious. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Okay, okay. Don't freak. It was just–" Her response was cut short by the arrival of a royal blue Oregon State Police cruiser. "This is it!"

A jolt of terror shot down Max's spine. She couldn't breathe and felt as cold as if she'd been dunked in ice water.

A pair of officers got out of the car and disappeared inside the police station. There would be red tape, paperwork. It would take them some time to get everything finalized and to get the prisoner out of his cell and cuffed. And then they would bring him out and...

A hint of movement in the corner of Max's eye. She swivelled and saw her, a hooded figure in a puffy jacket appearing from the ruins of the DMV and cutting across the street towards the police station. Snagging Chloe's arm, Max raced to cut off the figure. It had to be her. If they were wrong and they got distracted as Jefferson was brought out...

The figured ducked its head, hands stuffed into the jacket's pockets. Walked faster. They intercepted the figure just as it came to the curb. A wisp of blond hair had escaped from the hood.

Squeezing Chloe's arm, Max planted her feet. "Don't do it!"

The figure looked up, startled. It was her. The woman from Max's vision, the one from the bus stop. The one who had shot/would have shot Jefferson. "Excuse me," she grumbled. She tried to circle around them even as she kept checking the entrance to the police station. Waiting for Jefferson.

Chloe moved to block her. "Don't think so."

Her head snapped up. "Get out of my way!"

Heart hammering, Max pressed herself close against Chloe's side, determined to keep her out of harm's way while still doing what she had to. She would save Arcadia Bay and Chloe both this time. Even if it meant saving Mark Jefferson too. _No more ghosts. Just us monsters._

"We know you stole that gun and we know what you're planning to do with it."

The woman's face contorted with rage. "Get out of my fucking way!"

"Please," Max said, "please don't do this."

Her hand jerked out of the jacket pocket gripping a revolver. "I'm not fucking around!"

Chloe darted in front of Max, standing between her and the woman. "Chloe!" Max grabbed at her, trying to pull her back, but Chloe reached back, snagging her, keeping her back and all Max could do was wrap and arm around Chloe's middle and hold on to her, rigid with fear.

The woman stood there, staring at them, the shiny black barrel of the gun still pointed their way. They were still a few feet away, too far to try to grab for it. If she pulled the trigger... Max shuddered. She knew what it was like to get shot. And she knew what it was like to watch someone she loved get shot. She didn't want to relive either experience.

Like a camera lens, her eyes seemed to zoom in on the gun so that it was all she could see, the sole focus of her vision. But then a hint of colour distracted her. Something registered in her panicked brain. A smear of blue on the inside of the wrist. The jacket–a donation surely–was too short at the sleeves and, as she held out the gun, the woman's wrists were poking through, and Max could see it now, a blue line on the inside of her wrist, like a ragged vein. No. A vine. A thorny, twining vine.

"Susan," Max gasped. "Susan Baker?"

Startled, the woman fell back a step, the gun wavering.

"Chloe," Max said, squeezing her, "look at her wrist, it's her!"

Her left hand shot out, covering her wrist, even as her wide-eyed stare searched Max's face. Still gripping the revolver, her hand shook. Max's arm tightened around Chloe's waist. _Please not Chloe. Please not again._

The clang of a metal door opening and voices from across the street, made her heart leap into her throat. She didn't dare turn to look towards the police station. Susan Baker's eyes shifted, narrowed. Jefferson–they must be moving him to the police car. Oh shit.

"We know about Michelle," Max said. She sounded desperate. But she hadn't expected this. And she couldn't rewind to try to figure out what the right thing to say would be. If there even was a right thing at all.

Stunned, Susan froze, "How–"

"We found your box," Chloe said, her fingers still locked around the folds of Max's jacket, keeping her back. "The one with all your photos and stuff."

Susan–this forty-something-year-old version of her with tightly-bound dyed blond hair and nothing of the 90s punk about her– _this_ Susan stared at them in utter astonishment, looking so pale, they might as well have been a pair of ghosts come to haunt her.

She was shaking. The gun in her hand was shaking. But then her eyes darted to the police station and she took a step to pass them. "No, I need to stop him. I need to–"

But Chloe lunged forward, trying to snag her arm. Susan fell back, still gripping the revolver. The weapon swung wildly. Max's stomach lurched.

"We will, we'll stop him," Max said. "He's going to go to jail."

"No he won't," Susan snarled. "He never does. Get out of my way!"

Chloe didn't flinch. "Look, you're going to have to fucking shoot us. You ready to do that?"

The expression on her face shifted from anger to something more desperate.

Doors opened and closed behind them. A motor revved. Max dared to glance over her shoulder in time to see the Oregon State Police cruiser pull away from the curb. Jefferson was in the back seat.

Max turned back to see Susan sag with defeat, her hand, still gripping the gun, hanging loose at her side. She covered her eyes and tears leaked from under her palm. "He always gets away with it. Even the papers are saying he's innocent. But he isn't. He's–He's–"

"We _know_ ," Max said, her eyes flitting between Susan and the gun. "He's a monster. We know what we did and as soon as we can prove that he killed Nathan Prescott everyone will know it." Susan shook her head, her shoulders shaking. "You could talk to the police, tell them about Michelle, then maybe they'll be willing to check her grave."

"What?"

"Michelle's mother died last month. I think Jefferson dumped Nathan's body in the grave."

Susan held very still. Her hand fell away from her eyes. And though they were swollen with tears, they were the same mossy green Max remembered from the photographs. "I think you should... start from the beginning."


	21. Twenty-One: Life Story

**Twenty-One: Life Story**

Susan kept the gun, but the Bay Café was a public place so Max wasn't _too_ worried that she would use it. She was only fractionally worried. Like 1.8% worried.

They bought coffee and retreated to the furthest table at the back. And then they sat in awkward silence. After a minute or so, Max cleared her throat. "So... umm.. I'm Max and this Chloe. We–"

"I know who you are," Susan said without looking at them. "Joyce Price's daughter and her girlfriend, the photographer who's trying to do some sort of crowdfunding project for the town." She glanced up. "It's a small football field we're stuck in. Word gets around."

Sitting next to Max, close enough that their shoulders touched, Chloe gave Susan wary looks between sips of coffee. Max could tell from the stiffness of her shoulders that Chloe was in bodyguard mode again.

This was getting them nowhere. Maybe she needed to change tack.

"Did you get the job?" Max said.

Susan looked puzzled, but at least now she was looking up at them. "Job?"

Max nodded. "Last month you asked me if the bus had been by. You were going to a job interview in Newport."

There was no mirth in Susan's laughter. "Oh I got the job but then thanks to the storm I lost the one I had here. Along with everything else." Max swallowed a lump in her throat. That was her fault too. "But I didn't tell you my name," Susan said. She gave them a hard look. A prickling of fear made the hairs on the back of Max's neck stand on end; Susan still had the gun.

Chloe sipped her coffee, meeting Susan scowl for scowl. "I've been doing volunteer shit with the cleanup crews. I spotted the tree you and Michelle carved your names into. It was hella mangled by the storm and your box was tangled up in the roots."

Shaking her head, Susan wrapped her hands around her paper cup as if she were trying to warm them. "I buried that box eighteen years ago."

"Chloe and I found Jefferson's bunker last month. We've seen his... work." She had to swallow hard, remembering pictures of Kate... and of herself. The staring eyes, the duct tape. "When I saw the photo of Michelle I knew it was one of his."

Susan was staring at her now, eyes narrowed. "Hold on. _That_ photo wasn't in the box."

Max blinked. "You're right, that was from the other box."

They explained about the lost and found boxes that they'd been sorting through, about how it had turned up in a pile of lost photos. Susan listened and then bowed her head, holding her face in her hands. She looked so unlike her younger self from the photos, so worn down, like a shirt that had been through the wash too many times and gotten threadbare and faded. "I can't believe this. I kept that photo. It was the only one I kept. As evidence. Just in case." She shook her head. "I thought I'd lost it when the storm hit. I lost everything except my car."

"We found it," Max said. "And the box. The rest we pieced together from the internet."

"And what exactly did you piece together?"

Max took a deep breath, hands balled on her knees. Under the table, Chloe placed a hand over one of those fists and squeezed. They exchanged a look. A tiny smile made its way to Max's lips. Maybe it wouldn't be the whole truth, but the story she told would be close enough. "Michelle went to Blackwell. She graduated in 1990. After that, the two of you left Arcadia Bay and went to Seattle together. She worked at a bar called Puget Fugit. In 1994, you both got caught in a drive-by shooting outside the bar. You had medical bills. You needed money. Jefferson was in Seattle then. He was just getting really well-known. I'm guessing you met him and he offered to pay Michelle to model and... something happened. He drugged her and she–" Max looked up. Susan's face was frozen–no expression, like a blank mask. "We found the obituary in the Seattle Times archives online."

"You found all this out from the internet?"

Biting her lip, Max glanced at Chloe. "Not _just_ the internet. There were school records and–"

" _You_ were the ones at Blackwell the other night!" Susan groaned. "I thought it was security."

Chloe leaned forward over the table. "Dude, what were _you_ doing there? We thought you were going to blow our fucking heads off."

Susan shrugged. "I was looking for Jefferson's staff record." A long breath puffed out of Susan's lungs, her shoulders sagging, like she was a blow-up doll that had had its plug pulled. "It sounds like your research project worked out better than mine." She didn't look at them, her eyes on the table as if she were staring through it to something far away. "We met Jefferson through an acquaintance. We–no, it started before that. If we hadn't gotten shot..."

Her hand moved to her side, to where'd she'd been shot all those years ago. Then she shook her head and looked up at them. Again. "We both got hit by the same bullet. She had her arm around my waist and it went through her arm, into my back, and got stuck in a rib. We were both in the hospital. I had to have surgery. After that we were drowning in debt. We could barely cover rent and food and our meds." She paused, massaging her left temple as if it were beginning to ache. "I couldn't sleep after it happened. So I was taking these industrial strength sleeping pills. And she had pain meds. Her wrist hurt all the time. She had trouble doing anything with her left arm."

Susan's expression darkened as she went on. "So we met with Mark Jefferson. He said he was putting together a punk-themed collection. And he suggested we start with an informal shoot at our place so he could see us in our element." She rolled her eyes. "Oh we figured he probably wanted us to take our clothes off but we needed the money badly so..."

Susan's voice sounded shaky. Chloe shifted in her chair, obviously uncomfortable. Max didn't really know what to do either. If she'd been talking to someone her age, she'd have reached out, squeezed her arm maybe, but it felt weird to do that with someone who could've been her mom.

"He came over with his camera and a bottle of wine. He chatted us up and moved the lights around and took some pictures and then he broke out the wine. We all had some. And... I blacked out. I woke up in the morning and... and she didn't."

In the silence that followed, Max's thoughts walked that path along with Susan, what it must have been like to find Michelle that morning, lying in their apartment, not moving, not breathing. Calling 9-1-1. Paramedics rushing in. Did they try to resuscitate her? Or was it too late? Like it would've been for Chloe that day in the bathroom?

Under the table, Max squeezed Chloe's hand, intertwining their fingers, clinging to her. Chloe was real. Chloe was alive. She wasn't a ghost; she was flesh and blood, her beautiful, badass Chloe.

Susan crossed her arms tightly over her chest as if she were trying to hold all the pieces of herself together, and inspected the café's ceiling. "The official cause of death was accidental overdose. They said she must have taken my pills instead of hers by accident." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Bullshit," she spat. And then she looked right at the two of them. "We were careful with our medications. She kept hers with her so she could take them when she needed them, but I kept mine in the medicine cabinet. I always, always took them there and left the bottle there. Always. But that morning the bottle was in our living room. That _bastard_." She stopped, rubbed her eyes. An employee who was mopping the floor nearby gave them a speculative look. Max offered her best "everything's awesome" smile until he turned back to his work. "He used the bathroom. He probably went through the medicine cabinet while he was taking a piss and decided to dose us."

"I'm sorry," Max said, still clutching Chloe's hand. Chloe's knee bumped against hers and stayed there. And for a moment Max wished she could still rewind time so she could go back to yesterday morning and laze in the sunlight under mounds blankets with Chloe's bare skin pressed against hers. She wanted to camp out in that moment for the rest of her life and forget all this awfulness. All these terrible things that kept happening to people. "What about the police?"

A bark of laughter greeted Max's question. "The police didn't believe me. After all he was an up-and-coming photographer and we were..." Her hands balled themselves into fists, her knuckles blanching. "We were a couple of punks. Dykes. Sluts. Prescription drug-addicts."

Chloe leaned back into her chair, shaking her head. "Fuckers. Same shit, different decade."

"But what about the photo?" Max said. "They must have asked to see the shots he took that night and once they saw that one..."

Susan shook her head. "The photos he showed the police were all from before I blacked out. But that one–the one I kept... Someone slipped it under the apartment door. I showed it to the police but it didn't change anything." Her lips thinned. She took several short breaths. "I'm sure he's the one who left it for me. He was fucking with me. Bastard." She closed her eyes, and took a shaky breath.

"He does that," Max said quietly.

The scowl on Chloe's face was nothing short of ferocious as she leaned forward over the table. "Okay I get that you want to get your revenge and want to blow his fucking head off for what he did, but I need that gun back."

"It's not about revenge. I _will not_ let him touch Belinda."

"Your girlfriend?" Chloe said.

"My daughter."

Chloe glared at her. "Wait back it up. You've got a kid?"

Susan brought her cup to her lips and then grimaced. "Cold," she muttered. "Yes. I have daughter. She's fourteen and she hates me. She's living with her father in Portland." Chloe was still frowning, her eyes darting down to Susan's coat, hanging off the back of her chair. She'd stashed the gun in the right side pocket. "You don't know," Susan said, shaking her head. "You have no clue. When you have it _so_ easy."

"Easy?" Chloe said, springing to her feet. "Fuck that."

"Chloe!" Max hissed, tugging on her sleeve to pull her back down. She glanced over her shoulder to see the barista staring in their direction.

Susan looked from Max to Chloe. "You walk around holding hands. In front of everyone. In front of your parents. It wasn't like that for us. I had to leave home before my father could throw me out. Her mom pretended we were just friends. She told people I was her _roommate_." She said it like it was a particular nasty slur. "When her mother came for her things I had to hide whatever I wanted to keep. They wouldn't even let me go to the funeral."

"That's awful," Max said. Chloe had taken her seat again but her shoulders were tight, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at Susan.

"I need more coffee," Susan announced as she got to her feet. Chloe eyed the coat–a second before Susan pulled it off the back of the chair and slung it over her arm.

Chloe stared daggers at Susan's retreating form. "She'd better give me the gun back or I'm going to fucking turn her in to David."

"Chloe..." Max reached out, letting her hand rest on Chloe's shoulder. Chloe bristled.

"And she owes me for my truck window."

"She lost everything in the storm," Max said, trying to keep the volume low. They really didn't need to attract any extra attention.

Chloe huffed. "So did I."

"Not everything." The strain of the past day was starting to take its toll and her voice cracked.

When Chloe turned to look at Max, her expression had softened. She slung an arm around Max's shoulders and Max leaned her head against Chloe and for a minute they stayed like that until Susan returned with another paper cup of coffee.

Once Susan was back in her seat and sipping her coffee, Chloe spoke. "So why the hell did you come back to Bigfootsville? You got out. Why come back?"

"The bills," Susan said. "I was broke. And alone. Dad had buggered off by then–thank God–so mom took me in. And I..." She sighed and took another sip of coffee, cursing when she burned her tongue. "I came back to Arcadia Bay and decided I'd just pretend to be normal. Because why the hell not? Nothing mattered anymore. Not for a long time."

"So," Max began tentatively, "your mom hadn't told anyone you were..."

Susan raised an eyebrow. "Gay as a goddam rainbow? No." She sniffed. "She just told people I'd left for Seattle." And for a moment Max could see the girl from the photos sitting there in front of her–young, rebellious, and angry. "So I got married. As you can imagine," she said, waving a hand vaguely, "it didn't last long. But I had Belinda." She heaved a sigh and the girl was gone again, replaced by the worn down woman at the bus stop. "It was a year–a whole year–before I realized that Belinda was the name of one of the vocalists in Mich–" She faltered and paused, clearing her throat. "Michelle's favourite band. My Bloody Valentine. They had this album that came out just after we finished high school. She played it all the time. _All_ the time."

"Did you go to Blackwell too?" Max asked, hoping to move to a less fraught topic.

Susan shook her head. "No. I went to Bay High. Michelle's family came here from Portland when she was a senior. She was a good student and they thought Blackwell would look better on her college applications." A huff of laughter. "And then she met me." She plucked the lid off her coffee and stared into her cup for a minute without speaking. Finally, she shook her head. "Her mother tried to get her to come home when I was in the hospital. If she'd just gone with her, she'd be alive."

"She loved you," Max said quietly.

"And look where it got her." Susan's hands clenched into fists again. "I won't let him do the same to Belinda. All I've wanted since she was born is for her to have a good life. To be able to be whatever she decides." Another huff of mirthless laughter. "So of course she decided she wants to be a photographer. And she wants to go to Blackwell to take classes with Mark Jefferson."

Max's heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest. Only a couple of months ago she had wanted the same thing. And she had ended up in the dark room. "Did you tell her what happened?"

"Of course not. I haven't talked to anyone about this in eighteen years." Susan sighed. "My daughter thinks I'm an ogre because I won't let her go to Blackwell. But my ex–a complete jackass–decided that he'd pay for her to go to Blackwell when she turns seventeen." She gripped the edges of the table until her knuckles were white. "I would rather she _hate_ me than have her go to that school while Mark Jefferson is there. I had this whole plan. I bought a gun. But then the storm hit and I lost it along with everything else." She shook her head. "When I read the news about all the other girls... People are saying that he's going to get off. That it's all some bullshit frame-up by the Prescotts." She looked up at them again, her gaze steely. "Blowing his brains out before he hurts anyone else still sounds like a good idea."

"You don't have to do that." Max couldn't help but think that she sounded a little desperate, just like she had that day on the rooftop with Kate.

"So you said." Absently rubbing the tattoo on her arm, Susan looked from Chloe to Max. "Well, I told you my life story so I think it's about time you tell me about the graveyard."

And so Max explained about the grave and the photo and Nathan. She explained about the message Nathan had left on her phone warning her about Jefferson and how little time Jefferson must have had to hide the body. And she explained about Jefferson's hints, about the games he'd played with his students. When she was done, Susan was still and pale.

"The thing is..." She swallowed and then paused to bring her cup to her lips before starting again. "I was at the cemetery the night before the storm. I... uh... I go sometimes to leave flowers. For Michelle." She cleared her throat. "And as I was leaving I saw him. He was there, getting something out of his car. I thought it was camera equipment but I was trying to hurry to get the hell out of there so it could've been something else. Like a shovel."

A sudden burst of–of something–hope maybe–sent Max's heart racing. It wasn't proof, but an eyewitness account of Jefferson snooping around the graveyard... Surely that had to be enough to get the Bay police force to at least look into it. "Will you go to the police? Please?"

"And give me that gun back?" Chloe added. Max supposed it would have been too much to ask for Chloe to add a 'please' or to make the request without staring daggers at Susan.

"I'll tell you what," Susan said, rising from her seat and pulling on her coat. "I'll go to the police and if they find the body I'll give your gun back. If not..." She patted her coat pocket. "Well... I might still need it."


	22. Twenty-two: Debris

**Twenty-two: Debris**

It was the day before Thanksgiving when Susan said she wanted to meet them. She told them to wait at the cemetery.

The morning's rain had tapered off, but it was still gloomy, and the damp cold leeched the warmth out of Max's bones, leaving her as chilled as the wet, glistening headstones. She shivered. She hated being here. This was the place Chloe would've been buried if she'd died. It was the place the people who'd died _instead_ of Chloe were buried.

An arm snaked around Max's waist and she gratefully pressed herself against Chloe's warmth. "You did it, Max." Max stiffened. She had caused the storm. She had put those people in those graves. She had– "You solved the case."

Max let out a long breath and tried to relax. "I... I guess so." From the parking lot, the bright yellow police tape was visible, flapping in the breeze. Standing on the edge of the crime scene tape, Susan stood gazing into the open grave, just as she had for the past twenty minutes.

Just as she'd promised, Susan had gone to the police. And it had been enough. They'd checked the grave and they'd found Nathan Prescott. Mark Jefferson's last victim, buried with his first. He'd almost gotten away with both, but now they'd be able to prosecute him. They'd be able to prove to the world what a monster he was, that all his art was just an excuse to control people, to hurt them when he could.

"I just wish..."

Chloe's arm tightened around her. "You can't save everyone, Max." Her voice was so sad and it was only then that it really dawned Max that this was where William was buried too, that Chloe must hate this place every bit as much as she did. Clouded with grief, Chloe's beautiful blue eyes stared out at the headstones in their orderly rows.

Max knew she could never erase that sadness–she had tried and just made a mess of things–so she turned and buried her face in Chloe's neck. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Yeah it's the perfect spot for a romantic getaway."

Max jerked back. "Shit. I didn't mean _here_ , here. I meant–"

But Chloe, grinning, leaned in and kissed her.

When they parted, Susan was making her way towards them. It was impossible not to notice her red-rimmed eyes, but Max thought better than to comment on it. Susan cleared her throat but her voice still sounded gravelly when she spoke. "I hope he gets the death penalty, but I suppose that would be to much to expect."

"Would suit me fine," Chloe grumbled.

Susan's lips quirked, but then she shook her head and sighed. "I don't know how you figured it out, but thank you. And..." She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something wrapped up in a plastic bag. "A deal's a deal."

"Finally." Chloe reached out but Susan drew back, her brow creased.

"Why do you need this so badly?"

Chloe rolled her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. "It's David's. My stepfather. I need to give back as like... a peace offering." She shrugged. "It's Thanksgiving, right? Time for family and shit."

Susan snorted. "In my experience it's mostly the latter."

"Same."

"Well... here you go." Susan handed the package over to Chloe. Chloe peered inside the plastic bag and gave a curt nod.

"We have something for you too," Max said, reaching down for the backpack resting at her feet. Unzipping it, she pulled out the metal box that they'd found under the tree. They'd cleaned it up as best they could and replaced everything that had been inside. She held it out to Susan.

For several seconds, Susan didn't move but just stood fixed, staring as if the box were an asp that might strike at any moment. But then, taking a shaky breath she wrapped her hands around it and hugged the box close to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, lips pressed together.

"You should tell your kid." Susan's eyes sprang open at Chloe's words. "She might think you were less of an ogre if she knew why you hated Jefferson so much."

"Maybe. He can't claim the Prescotts are framing him anymore so maybe she'd even believe me."

"I think she will," Max said, offering a reassuring smile.

Susan's gaze moved from Chloe to Max and then she sighed. "Well... Thank you. And good luck."

She turned and walked towards her car without waiting for a reply.

Chloe's eyes followed her retreating form. "You really think we did the right thing?"

Max shook her head. "I think we did the only thing. She has a daughter, Chloe. How would you feel if your mom was a convicted felon?"

Chloe grimaced. "Speaking of mom, are you ready to hit the road?" She glanced in the direction of the junker. Their camping gear and scant belongings were packed up in the bed of the truck under a waterproof tarp. "There's turkey and fixings with our name on them."

Max smiled. She knew Chloe wasn't convinced that Thanksgiving could be bearable, let alone fun, but at least she was trying. "Could we make a pit stop first? I still need to get a final shot for the Kickstarter project. We're already fully funded and now it looks like they're going to have to extend the print run we planned. So I really need to send Warren the last shot."

Jingling the keys Chloe motioned towards the trunk. "Say the word. After all, I am your chauffeur."

Reaching up, Max brushed a kiss over Chloe's lips. "Chauffeur _and_ faithful companion."

"Hella," Chloe whispered against her lips.

#

The beach wasn't what Chloe had expected when she'd asked Max where she wanted to go. She'd already seen a beach shot in the mockups, with splintered docks and wreckage of fishing boats. But aside from some flotsam and jetsam on the sand, this spot was free from any trace of the storm.

As Max set up her tripod and began fiddling with the camera settings, Chloe walked just above the surf line, kicking at the sand with her boots, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. It wasn't T-shirt weather, but at least she couldn't see the puff of her breath today. The nights were getting cold and even with a sleeping bag-buddy and lots of blankets, she'd be glad to ditch the camping routine. The Blackwell dorms would be open after the holidays and the plan was to crash there.

"Chloe?" Shifting between the camera display and the scene in front of her, Max wore an air of nerdy concentration. Adorbs. "Can you stand over there?" She pointed.

Raising an eyebrow, Chloe moved to the designate area. "Here?"

Max peered down at her camera. "A little to the left."

"Your left or mine?"

"Mine."

"Here?"

"Yes."

Max didn't look up from the screen. "Okay now take off your jacket."

Chloe's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, Maximus. If you're trying to get some sexy pics I'm hella up for it but could we do it somewhere a little warmer?"

Max's head shot up. "What? No. I–" She finally saw the expression on Chloe's face. "Shut up. And toss your jacket over there." A she spoke, Max unzipped her own jacket and set it down next to her tripod. Pausing to adjust one more setting, she hurried over to Chloe. "Strike a pose," Max said, and wound an arm around Chloe's waist.

Chloe had enough time to put her arm around Max's shoulders and look up at the camera before it flashed.

"Don't move," Max said and slid out from under her arm, running back up to the tripod to check the results. After a few seconds she pronounced them to be good and told Chloe she could put her jacket back on.

"I thought you said you needed another picture for your Kickstarter," Chloe said, zipping up her jacket, the skin on her arms already covered in goose bumps.

"I did. Let's get back to the truck and I'll show you."

Once there, Max booted up her laptop and pulled up the mockups for the project. She flipped through till she reached the final page. The right panel was blank, but on the left was a scanned-in image Chloe recognised. Two girls, one with shoulder-length blond hair, and one with a long brown braid, stood together on the beach, grinning broadly. Chloe stared. "God, we look so young and..."

"Happy?" Max whispered.

"Yeah. Poor kids. No idea about the shitstorm coming their way."

Reaching for her camera, Max showed her the photograph from today, the two of them, holding on to each other on that same beach. "Are you okay if I use it as the final shot?"

For several seconds, Chloe looked from the photo to Max. "Are you sure?"

Max nodded. "I've been thinking about it for weeks. But everything that happened started with us so..."

Chloe's eyes flicked to the screen, to that blank page where the new photo of them would go. Below it was a single line of text:

 _Sometimes the world changes you. Sometimes you change the world._

Her breath caught. For anyone else reading that, they'd see it as some serious positivity bullshit, the book ending with the reminder that it was a charity project that would help to rebuild homes–to change the world. But that wasn't what it meant for Max. Max had literally changed the world. She had changed it in all the ways the previous pages of that book illustrated. Every page of that book was a confession. Just like Jefferson in his classes, dropping hints about his real work.

"Max..." She looked up and the expression on Max's face told Chloe all she needed to know. Just like when they'd been there by the lighthouse. She could still hear her, standing there on that bluff. _'This is my storm. I caused this. I caused all of this.'_ Always blaming herself. As if she'd woken up one morning and decided to have superpowers. As if she possibly could've known what would happen next. "You put Jefferson away. If it weren't for you and your powers he'd have walked."

Max's eyes dropped to the camera in her hands. "I know. I just..." Slowly she put it back in its case, still not meeting Chloe's eyes.

She'd wanted to save everyone. She'd wanted to make everything okay. But now all they could do was pick up the pieces.

"Hey I never did show you the pics Joyce sent, did I?" Fumbling in her pockets until she found her phone, Chloe pulled up the pictures of the lot where her house had once stood–a lot which had, until recently been covered in splintered wood, trashed furniture, and gobs of wet insulation. "They've cleared all the shit out of the way." The foundation slab was all that was left.

Max stared at it. "There's nothing there. Just the slab."

"Yeah. They can start fresh now. When the insurance comes through."

"Start fresh," Max murmured, staring at the phone screen.

"Just like us, right?" Max looked up, surprised. "Look, Max... Before, I just wanted to burn it all down. But with you..." She shrugged, struggling for the right words and envying the way Max could say so much through a single photo. "Shit, it's... It's like... I want to build something."

"A sand castle?" Max suggested, her lips quirked.

"A life."

"Wowser." A blush was creeping up Max's face, washing out her freckles. Chloe did then the only thing she could. She leaned in and, taking her face in her hands, kissed Max, long and slow.

She didn't have words for all this mushy shit, so she tried to tell Max with her mouth, with her hands, with the heat of her body. Maybe the world _had_ torn them down and left a mess of debris, but they could clear it away and build something better. They could do that together.

Out of breath she pulled back and grinned at Max. "Step one: Thanksgiving dinner."

Max was still clinging to her, hands around her waist, her blue eyes bright, her soft lips parted in a smile. "Step two: make the world bow."

And looking at Max, Chloe knew they would. No matter what the world threw at them, they had a foundation to build on. They'd clear it and build and rebuild no matter how many times they had to. Together.

 **The End**


End file.
